The Tale of Tom
by Niemand5
Summary: The history of Tom Riddle, starting when he gets his Hogwarts letter.
1. The Letter

**The Tale of Tom  
**  
Chapter One: The Letter

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A shaft of moonlight fell from between the open blinds. The light came upon a young boy's open eyes. It was late but Tom couldn't sleep. Not tonight. He glanced at the open letter on his nightstand. The Hogwarts crest seemed to glow in the moonlight, as though it, too, could sense the excitement.  
  
Tom rolled onto his back. Him, _a wizard_. He couldn't believe it. Something told him that as soon as he fell asleep the letter was going to vanish. The letter had arrived around noon to a very confused Tom. He hadn't gotten a single piece of mail in his eleven years of residing at the orphanage. It had surprised him even more when the woman in charge of the orphanage had pulled him aside, warning him to open it in private. He had nodded speechlessly and waited until everybody in the orphanage was asleep. He was still a bit perplexed but he was sure everything would become clear in the morning.  
  
He settled deeper under the covers. Him, _a wizard_. 

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Tom woke up early, surprised to find he had fallen asleep. Checking quickly, he found the Hogwarts letter still on his nightstand. He breathed a sigh of relief and carefully climbed out of his bed, all the while making sure not to hit his head on the bunk above. It had happened too many times. Tom pulled out a ratty sweater and a pair of trousers. Every scrap of clothing he owned had at least one hole in it. Hastily grabbing a comb, (which happened to be missing several teeth) he brushed his ink-black hair and surveyed his appearance in the mirror. The pudding-bowl haircut he sported was practical enough but, lifting a strand up, he realized it was starting to get too long. It would need to be cut soon.  
  
"Tom, are you coming?"  
  
"In a minute Miss O'Flan."  
  
The woman who worked at the orphanage was called Miss O' Flannery and she watched them. The little kids often referred to her as "Ma'am O'Flan."  
  
As Tom turned away from the mirror he caught a glimpse of his own eyes. Miss O'Flan insisted they were his best feature, which served to only make him more embarrassed of them. They were a stormy blue but when light reflected off them they became a much lighter shade. The eye of the storm, as she so often joked.  
  
"Tom?"  
  
"Coming!"  
  
Tom walked into the kitchen/breakfast room/dining room/living room where breakfast was being served.  
  
"Tom!"  
  
One of the five year olds tackled him into a hug.  
  
"Hi, Rose," Tom said, doing his best not to stumble backwards. "Let's have breakfast," he added as he tried to pry her off him and slide into a seat. Rose complied happily and went back to visit the babies.  
  
"Miss O'Flan?" Tom tried nervously.  
  
"Mmm, yes?" She was engaged in washing the dishes.  
  
"Can I ask you about my letter?" There was no need for Tom to clarify which letter.  
  
"Eat your breakfast first and then you may."  
  
Tom tried to eat as fast as he could but the oatmeal did not seem to want to slide down his throat. There were so many questions he wanted to ask!  
  
He ate what he considered enough and quickly washed out his bowl. "I'm right here, Tom," Miss O'Flannery replied in response to his unasked question.  
  
"I-I just," Tom tried to find the right words to express all of his questions at once.  
  
Miss O'Flan gave a slight laugh and replied. "Take a deep breath Tom. Now what is it you want to ask me?"  
  
"Is it real?" Tom nervously blurted out, afraid his hopes might be shattered.  
  
"Of course it's real," Miss O'Flan replied in a calming voice.  
  
"I-where do I get all of this stuff?" Tom asked referring to the sheet of needed supplies.  
  
"You get them at a group of wizard stores in London. I can't go with you personally but I can show you where it is on a map."  
  
Tom nodded and a second thought struck him. "But how could I get there? Surely it's too far to walk."  
  
"Now, now. Don't you worry your pretty little head about," Miss O'Flannery said smiling.  
  
Tom turned away when a final question occurred to him. "Miss O'Flan?"  
  
"Yes, m'dear," she said not looking up from her book into which she seemed to have reimmersed herself.  
  
"Are you a witch?"  
  
"No," Miss O'Flan said looking up from her book. "I'm a squib."  
  
Something in her tone of voice told him to not ask what a squib was, but for the first time he noticed the few strands of gray hair amongst her brown and the wrinkles around her eyes seemed shockingly visible.

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Disclaimer: I don't own Tom Riddle, or anything from the Harry Potter series.  
  
A/N: The first chapter! Please review, and I would of course appreciate constructive criticism. Also, the rating and genre will probably change once I get further along.


	2. A Day at the Orphanage

**The Tale of Tom**                     ****

Chapter Two: A Day at the Orphanage

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The bright light spilling through the window woke a sleepy Tom. He opened his eyes groggily and suddenly remembered what today was. Today was the day Miss O'Flan had promised him a surprise. He jumped out of bed and quickly dressed. He took the Hogwarts letter and stuffed it in his pocket. It had been a week since Tom had received his letter, but he still carried it with him, as though it was some unspoken talisman that would protect him from harm.   
  
Tom walked to where breakfast was being served and sat in a seat next to a four year old boy named Henry.   
  
"Hi, Tom," Henry said in his soft voice.  
  
"Hello, Henry. Sleep well?"   
  
The younger boy nodded, and they both returned to their breakfast. Henry finished quickly, leaving his bowl at the table with Tom. Tom sighed and went to wash it out. He often took care of the younger kids for Miss O'Flan but he didn't like feeling he was _supposed_ to.  
  
"Tom?"  
  
"Yes, Miss O'Flan?" Tom called over the running water.  
  
"Can you watch the kids for a bit? I have to go do something."  
  
"Alright, Miss O'Flannery," Tom said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Somehow he didn't feel it was fair to him, but he had long ago stopped complaining about things not being fair. The world was not a fair place, a lesson oft repeated.   
  
Tom took a deep breath and tried to be optimistic. After all, he did like watching the babies. They were very cute.   
  
"Hi, Tom!" Rose bounded up to him, her strawberry blonde hair shining in the sunlight. "Can I help?"  
  
"Sure, Rose," Tom said smiling. "I'm just going to warm up the bottle, and then you can feed William."  
  
Rose seemed too absorbed playing peek-a-boo with William to hear. Tom smiled at the sight and grabbed a bottle. He held it over the stove, using tongs, until it seemed the right amount of time had passed.   
  
Tom walked back to the nursery and saw Rose in a chair holding the baby. He cringed and ran forward. "No, no Rose. You have to be sure to support his neck," Tom said, moving her hands.  
  
"Oops," Rose said, dismissing it easily, an act that slightly annoyed Tom.  
  
Tom handed her the bottle and stood thinking of what to do, when he heard the start of a cry. He rushed over to the cradle of the unhappy baby and scooped her up. "Hush, hush," Tom whispered into her ear as he hoisted her up onto his chest. "Come on," Tom said quietly, walking around the room. The baby became quiet and Tom heard the door open. He suspected it was Miss O'Flan as people rarely came without appointments.  
  
"Tom?" Sure enough, he was right.  
  
Tom set the little baby back down in her cradle and took the empty bottle left from the feeding. "In a minute," he responded washing and drying the bottle. He tucked it in a cabinet under the sink and proceeded to walk to the entry room where he couldn't believe his eyes.   
  
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Disclaimer: I do not own Tom Riddle or anything of the like.

A/N: Thank you to my historical sources and beta-reader.


	3. The Bicycle

**The Tale of Tom,**

Chapter Three: The Bicycle

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Tom stared in shock.

"It's yours, dear," Miss O'Flan said, smiling.

Tom didn't trust his voice to speak. Right in front of him was a bicycle, maybe it wasn't new but Tom didn't care. It was _his_.

"Consider it a 'Congratulations on getting into Hogwarts gift.'"

"Th-th-thank you," Tom said, trying to contain his excitement.

"You can use it to get to Diagon Alley."

Tom looked confused. "Dia-what?"

"Diagon Alley, the group of wizard stores."

Tom said a silent "oh" and nodded. Then something struck him. "But, but Miss O'Flannery, I don't know how to ride a bicycle."

"Don't worry, you'll learn fast enough. But you can't start immediately anyway. Some of the gears are misaligned and the tires are a bit flat. But I figured you could fix it."

Tom nodded and his face broke into a smile.

"So I guess you like it?" Miss O'Flannery said with a mischievous smile.

"Yes, Miss O'Flan!"

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"Ow!"

"Are you all right, Tom?"

"Yeah," Tom's voice dropped a bit. "Stupid bike." He nursed his hand for a bit before he decided to try again. _Note to self,_ he thought_, keep hands away from where the chain meets the gear._

It had been several days since Tom had received the bicycle and it was progressing very well. He had managed to fill the tires full of air without an official pump and re-align one of the gears. It would be ready for riding as soon as he got the chain back around the gear. The chain was proving to be painfully stubborn. There was, of course, still the matter of him learning to ride but he wasn't too worried about that. Tom had a very good sense of balance.

"Do you want your lunch out there?"

"Yes, please," Tom said, standing up. He figured it wouldn't be a good idea to eat with oil and grease on his hands.

He went to wash his hands and splash some water on his face. It was getting warm out.

"Here, Tom," Miss O'Flannery said, handing him a plate with a sandwich on it.

"Thank you, Miss O'Flan."

"Miss O'Flan! Miss O'Flan! Can I join Tom in the backyard?"

"Sure, Rose." Tom felt himself smile at Miss O'Flannery's response.

"Hi, Tom! I get to eat outside too!"    

"That's good," Tom said walking toward the backdoor and pushing it open. The term "backyard" was used loosely. It was more a small patch of dirt than anything. But it was still fresh air.

"It's like a picnic," Rose said, taking a bite of her sandwich and smiling happily.

Tom smiled at her endless optimism, and they ate in silence for a while.

"Does it work?" Rose asked.

"Does what work?"

Rose pointed vaguely and said, "The bicycle, of course."

Tom sadly shook his head and said, "Not yet. I'm having trouble getting one chain connected. It keeps pinching my hand."

"I can try," Rose said earnestly.

Tom smiled, "It's okay, Rose."

"No, really. My hands are smaller so it might be easier for me."

Tom thought. It did make sense. "All right, go ahead."

Rose quickly ate the remaining part of her sandwich and said "Which chain?"

Tom set his plate down and walked over to the bicycle. "This chain," he held the chain up, "To this gear," he pointed to the gear.

"Okay," Rose replied as she started trying. Tom went back to finish his sandwich. He had barely touched it when Rose yelled out, "Did it!"

"Really?" Tom asked, excited.

"Yeah!" Rose said smiling.

Tom ran over, touched the chain, and moved the pedals briefly.

"You did it Rose!" Tom said, smiling and hugging her.

"Hey, Tom?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I try?"

Tom smiled and replied. "Of course!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Tell you what, I'll hold it steady while you pedal, that way you won't fall."

"Okay," Rose said, smiling.

"Here, we should get it out to the street first," Tom said lifting the bicycle up. "Oh wait," he said, grabbing the rest of his sandwich and cramming it in his mouth. "There!" he said, causing Rose to laugh.

"Miss O'Flan?"

"Yes, Tom,"

"Rose and I are going to go outside to try out the bicycle."

"Okay,"

Tom grinned at Rose as they stepped outside.

"You ready, Rose?" Tom asked as she got into the seat.

Rose nodded and started pedaling. Tom let go and she kept pedaling.

"I'm doing it, Tom! I'm doing it!"

Tom smiled and his heart swelled with joy.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Tom Riddle, etc. No copyright infringement intended, you get the idea.

A/N: The third chapter! Sorry for such a long wait but I hope you enjoyed it.  If you want to know when the next chapter will come, check my profile. I try to leave a note as to what's going on.


	4. Setting Off

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Four: Setting Off  
  
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_One more time, _Tom thought to himself as he opened the creased envelope bearing Hogwarts' seal.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL   
_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY  
  
Headmaster: Armando Dippet

Dear Mr. Riddle,We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.Yours sincerely,

(and here was a big loopy signature Tom could barely read)  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
_Deputy Headmaster_  
  
There was another sheet, a list of supplies, but Tom hadn't looked at that too thoroughly. He figured he'd look at it when he needed to. Tom glanced over the letter one more time when something caught his eye. _We await your owl by no later than July 31. _ His mind started reeling. It was July 31st today, and, needless to say, he did not have an owl. What would happen if he didn't contact them? Would he simply be banned from the world of wizardry?   
  
"No," Tom said to himself under his breath. He would not let them show him this wonderful world yet not allow him to partake in it. Tom silently said that he didn't care if he had to bike to Hogwart's, he was _going_ to let them know.   
  
"Tom, come here." Tom silently wondered why Miss O'Flan wanted him. It was going to be long ride if he had to ride his bicycle to Hogwarts.  
  
A strange sight met his eyes. Miss O'Flannery was hunched the table with a pencil tucked behind her ear. "Er, yes?" Tom said, remembering to speak.  
  
"Oh, Tom." She stood up and Tom could see a piece of paper with many lines drawn on it. "Here," she said, handing the piece of paper to a confused Tom.  
  
"Er--what is it exactly for?" Tom trailed off.  
  
"It's a map."  
  
"A map." Tom repeated. If he squinted he could see names written across the various lines.  
  
"You use it," she pointed to the map, "to reach the wizarding stores."  
  
"You mean Dragon Alley."  
  
"Diagon, Tom. Diagon."  
  
"When you reach the place circled on the map, you ask for Frank."  
  
"Frank."  
  
"Yes, Frank. You can take your bicycle." Tom resisted the urge to repeat bicycle as she clapped her hand on his shoulder. "Good luck."  
  
Tom left and wondered where he was going and why. Lately she hadn't been telling Tom anything which annoyed him greatly. He looked at the map and decided to go one block at a time. Tom went to grab the bicycle. He had learned to ride it perfectly in only a week.   
  
"Hi, Tom," Rose said, waving. "Where are you going?" she asked, noticing him grabbing the bicycle.  
  
"Er, I'm not sure," Tom said slowly, trying to find where the map was circled.   
  
"Like a treasure hunt?"   
  
"Yes, Rose. Like a treasure hunt." Rose nodded, content with that answer and went back to playing with the younger children.  
  
He rolled the bike out of the storage room and set off to--well, wherever he was destined to go, he supposed.  
  
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Disclaimer: I do not own Tom Riddle, et cetera, et all.  
  
A/N: To my dear reviewers: I love you all and sorry if I drag things out too much. It's my writing style. And all of your wonderful reviews inspired me to write this chapter. :o)


	5. Dragon, I mean Diagon, Alley

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Five: Dragon--I mean Diagon--Alley

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Tom didn't know how long he'd been riding his bicycle. He guessed about an hour. It didn't help that he kept going down the wrong roads. Looking at the map, he finally saw the circled area. It was around the words "Leaky Cauldron." Tom wondered vaguely what type of place was referred to as a leaky cauldron. Semi-luckily Tom found himself in front of it before he had too much time to wonder. He tied his bike to a pole with a spare piece of rope and proceeded inside.

It was surprisingly dark when Tom first entered and he couldn't see a thing. He had just managed to make out a clock that said 12:05 when a voice called to him.

"Oy! Tom!" Tom blindly tried to find where he thought the voice had come from. His eyes were still not completely adjusted when he started walking. Besides running into one table and stubbing his toe, he managed to reach the person who had called to him without further incident.

"Ow," Tom said under his breath as he slid into a chair across from the man. The man was dressed in--in _robes_ and had dark brown hair.

"Hello, Tom. You've grown."

"Are you Frank?" Tom blurted out, hoping he wasn't being too rude.

The man gave a smile and said, "Yes, I'm Frank. I suppose it'd have been too much to hope you'd recognize me."

"Er, pardon, but where am I supposed to recognize you from?" Tom said, squinting in the dull light.

"From the orphanage," the man--Frank--said simply.

"You've never been there," Tom said suspiciously.

"Not long, no. Only for about a week before I went off to my final year at Hogwarts. I think you were about six. But I had a feeling I'd see you again, ever since you mysteriously caused all the potted plants to turn purple."

Tom smiled at the memory. He had a vague recollection of who Frank was now, mainly because he was the oldest person to have stayed at the orphanage. "Yeah, I remember you," Tom said, snapping out of his thoughts.

"Miss O'Flannery asked me to show you around Diagon Alley, you know, start you off." Tom nodded. It would be helpful. "Well, that's one of the reasons. Another reason is there are only three ways to get into Diagon Alley. Floo powder, which you don't have, or apparation, which you can't do yet."

"What's the third way?" Tom asked.

"The third way requires a wand. So you'll be able to go on your own next year but this year you can't." Tom nodded, trying to take it all in.

"So come on," Frank said, standing up and gesturing Tom.

They left the Leaky Cauldron and Frank steered him toward a small courtyard. Tom looked at Frank with confusion but he just smiled. "What--" Tom started.

"Just watch," Frank said pulling a long piece of wood from inside his robes.

"Is that a wand?" Tom asked, eyeing the piece of wood.

Frank nodded and grinned. "Now let's see if I can remember how many over and how many up." Frank started counting and tapping bricks with his wand. "Er--no, okay, let's try two up three across," all of this Frank said to himself while Tom watched. "Ah ha!" he said as the bricks suddenly started moving.

Tom jumped backwards, startled and watched in awe.

"This, my friend, is Diagon Alley."

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Disclaimer: I do not own Tom Riddle, etc.

A/N: I recently changed chapter 2 and 3 to html and 4 is already. I'm not really sure it matters but just so you know. I'll probably post them all in html from now on. And sorry that the chapters have been so short lately. I hope I have semi-made up for it by updating more often.


	6. Disaster

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Six: Disaster

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Tom just stared at the seemingly endless streets as the brick doorway opened up. Frank ushered him inside while he continued to stare at the crowded, bustling streets and the stores which sold things Tom had never heard of before.

"I'm guessing you're going to want to look around before we start shopping," Frank said to a speechless Tom. Tom simply nodded.

"So which stores are the most interesting?" Tom asked, remembering his voice. He wanted to look around but he didn't want to waste Frank's time.

"Well," Frank said, thinking, "If you're into Quidditch, then the broom store would be interesting, but--"

"What's Quidditch?" Tom asked, interrupting him.

"Umm," Frank said running a hand through his hair. "It's kind of like football, played in the air, on brooms."

Tom nodded, having trouble imagining Quidditch.

"Er, where was I?" Frank said to himself. "Oh yeah, the Apothecary's kind of interesting and Flourish and Blott's has some interesting books. You need to go to those stores for school anyway."

"Is it always this crowded?" Tom asked as a young child stepped on his foot.

"Well, it's always busier on the weekends and today's Saturday," Frank said trailing off. "Do you want to the bank--Gringott's-- first?" he asked Tom.

"Okay," Tom replied, not really sure what good the bank would do him as he didn't have any money deposited.

"Then we can kill two birds with one stone by buying your supplies while looking around." Tom got the feeling Frank didn't want to wander Diagon Alley aimlessly. Of course, Tom supposed, Frank had probably been here countless times and did not find it interesting any more.

Gringott's was easy to tell apart from all of the other shops as it was considerably bigger and grander. At the bronze doors there was what Tom suspected was a goblin who ushered them inside the main hall.

"We'd like to make a withdrawal," Frank said, walking up to a long counter which many goblins resided behind.

"Name?" a goblin asked.

"Of what?" Frank replied.

The goblin glared at him. "The name of the person withdrawing the money which _should_ be the same name as the name of the account."

"Oh, right," Frank said. "Tom Riddle here," he put his hand on Tom's shoulder "is withdrawing from his deceased mother's account." Tom flinched slightly. He didn't like people talking about his mother.

"What is the full name of his mother?" the goblin asked.

"Er," Frank looked at Tom.

"Elizabeth Riddle," Tom said quietly, looking at the floor.

The goblin gave Tom an appraising look. "Do you have the key?"

Tom looked at Frank who shrugged. Tom shook his head and then quietly asked, "Will that be a problem?"

The goblin didn't appear to have heard Tom because he simply said, "Wait here," and left.

"Do I need the key?" Tom asked Frank, swallowing nervously.

Frank shook his head. "Of course they like it if you have the key but normally they just have you prove who you are." Frank still had a confused look on his face.

"But..." Tom prompted.

"But I don't know if this is normal," Frank finished.

They stood in silence for what seemed to be a very long time before the goblin passed by them. "One more minute," it said as Tom opened his mouth.

It appeared that this goblin was talking to another goblin, one who seemed as though it was more important than the others, based on its uniform. Tom strained his ears to try to catch their conversation. "Here?...nothing?....I asked...still exists...tell him...the Ministry...won't be happy...curse-breaker...do not know...very well."

The goblin walked back over to Tom and Frank and gestured to a small lounge in the corner. "Perhaps you'd better sit." Tom frowned and wondered what they were going to tell him that would be so bad. "Mr. Riddle," the goblin started, once they were seated, "You were born by a muggle midwife, correct?"

"I don't really know," Tom said slowly. "Wasn't my mum a witch?"

"She was," the goblin continued, "But you were born by a muggle midwife, which is why you live in a muggle orphanage." Tom flinched slightly. Somehow he didn't like this creature he had never met spewing things he would rather not have anybody know. He also vaguely wondered why the goblin had asked him the question if he had already known the answer.

"I guess," said Tom.

"Because you were given directly to a muggle orphanage, by a muggle, the wizarding world did not know that you existed for some time." Tom thought he knew where this was going. "It wasn't until the Ministry of Magic sensed your underage magic that they found out Elizabeth Riddle had an heir. Since she had left no will and the Ministry of Magic did not know that you existed they did what they normally did in cases like that."

"Which is?" Tom said quietly, his heart beating very fast.

"The money in her vault was returned to the Ministry."

"What do you mean?" Tom said, although, he knew perfectly well what the goblin had meant.

"There is no money left to Elizabeth Riddle's name. The Ministry has already had its say on this matter."

"So there's--there's nothing I can do?" Tom said in almost a whisper.

"I'm sorry," the goblin said, walking away and leaving a stunned Tom.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Tom Riddle or anything of the like.

A/N: Well, I managed to get this chapter up before my trip. I'm leaving Sunday and returning August 10th so don't expect any new chapters during that time period. Also, I feel I should say that July 31st, 1937 really _was_ a Saturday. And the conversation between the two goblins was a whole conversation before I edited it. And one last thing, for people who don't know, in England soccer is called football.


	7. Options

**The Tale of Tom**  
  
Chapter 7: Options  
  
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Frank ushered the stunned Tom into the harsh outside light. Tom glared enviously at a family who had just walked out of a shop, talking and smiling. His mind thought the words he thought so often. _This isn't fair._ "What now?" Tom said with a touch of bitterness in his voice.  
  
"Er--I'm not really sure," Frank admitted. "What about your father?"  
  
"What about him?" Tom snapped.   
  
"Is he, um, is he," Frank lamely started. "Is he with your mother?"  
  
Tom silently laughed at Frank's attempt to ask if his father was dead. It made things slightly better. "I don't know. I assume so. Miss O'Flannery always avoids talking about him."  
  
"Did he leave any money behind?"  
  
Tom glared. "How should I know?" he said bitterly. "Miss O'Flannery probably would have told you if he did. That or it was combined with my mother's."  
  
Frank nodded while Tom continued glaring at the happy groups of children. "Well, I think I have an idea of what we can do."  
  
"What?" Tom asked, forgetting his anger for a moment.  
  
"Just follow me," Frank said with a grin.   
  
"What about my bicycle? It's still by the Leaky Cauldron," Tom had a suspicion they would be going further than Diagon Alley.  
  
"I was wondering how you got here. You can just leave it there for now, we'll come back."   
  
Tom nodded and Frank steered him to a nearby store. The store had many small instruments and other various goods which Tom could find interesting even with the current scenario. "Oy, Tom!" Tom turned his head and walked over to the counter where Frank was. "Here," he said holding a container out to Tom.   
  
"Er, what?" Tom said peering at the substance in the container that looked like colored sand.  
  
"Floo powder," Frank said simply.  
  
Tom grabbed a bit and remembered that Frank had said Floo powder was one of the ways to get to Diagon Alley. "How do I use it?" he asked.  
  
"You throw it into the fire, step inside it and yell where you want to go," Frank explained.  
  
"And where would that be?" Tom said doubtfully.   
  
"1245 Byward Street, my house," Frank said, taking some Floo Powder for himself.   
  
Tom threw his powder into the fire and was surprised to see it change to an emerald green. Frank nodded at him and Tom stepped into the roaring flames. "Twelve forty-five Byword Street!" he yelled. Tom found the process not very comfortable, to say in the least. The spinning was making him very queasy. Luckily, it was soon over.   
  
When it ended Tom blindly stumbled out of the fireplace, promptly tripping on something.   
  
"Ow," Tom said quietly to himself, while sitting up. He turned to see what he had tripped on and saw a baby rattle. Tom's eyes became wide with fear. He realized he must have mispronounced the address and thus was in the wrong house. After all, somehow Tom doubted Frank had baby rattles lying around his house.   
  
Tom was about to make a run for the front door when he heard a noise. Instantly he froze. A woman with light brown hair and a baby in her arms walked into the room Tom was in, the living room. When she looked up and saw Tom, who was in plain sight, she let out a small gasp. Tom opened his mouth to explain but no sound came out. It was then the woman started talking.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked with a combination of anger and fear.  
  
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Disclaimer: I do not own Tom Riddle, J.K. Rowling does.  
  
A/N: Okay, I managed to get another chapter up before I left before my trip. =) _Now,_ don't expect any updates until I get back.


	8. Supplies?

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Eight: Supplies?

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"Er, I-I, um, I-," Tom stuttered. The woman was now looking at him with a confused look on her face.

Tom was about to run for the door when the fire behind him turned emerald and roared. The woman considerably relaxed and said "Hello, Frank."

"Hello, Susan," Frank said. An awkward pause followed until Frank brightly said, "I see you've met Tom."

"Oh, he's that boy you said you were going to show around Diagon Alley, isn't he?" Susan said with recognition dawning.

Frank nodded. "Why don't you go outside and get the soot off your clothes, Tom."

Tom nodded and went to the front door. He had a suspicion they wanted to talk in private. Right before Frank closed the front door Tom caught sight of his wedding ring. Tom mentally scolded himself for not noticing earlier. He prided himself on noticing things other people didn't.

As he brushed the soot off his clothes he wondered why Frank had brought him to his house. He patted his pockets for the Hogwart's letter and supply list, feeling slightly comforted when he found it.

"Hey, Tom," Frank yelled from inside the house.

"Yeah?"

"Can I see your supply list?"

"Okay," Tom said, slightly confused.

Tom entered the house, now soot-free and walked to where he thought Frank would be. "Here," he said, handing Frank the supply list.

"Oh thanks," Frank replied, distracted. He seemed to be looking at the books in a very large bookcase. "You can go back outside, now."

Tom no longer had any soot on his clothes but he took the hint to leave. He sat on the front steps for what seemed like a very long while, wondering how an eleven-year old boy could earn enough money for everything on that list. Tom also wondered vaguely if the twittering birds in the nearby trees were always this noisy.

Tom heard the door open and looked up. It was Frank's wife, holding a very disgruntled owl. "Here," she said roughly.

"Er, what?" Tom asked.

"Frank said you would want to see the owl set off."

"For what?" Tom asked, stroking the owl gently.

"For Hogwarts, with your letter of acceptation."

Tom nodded as she let the owl take flight. "Thank you," he said softly as she slammed the door. He figured she was still mad at him for appearing so suddenly.

More time passed before Frank finally came outside. "Come on in." Tom stood up and followed him inside the house. "Here," he said handing Tom a large stack of tattered books. "They're my old school books," he said, as though sensing Tom's question. "Luckily they haven't changed the course books too much."

"Er, thanks," Tom said, stumbling over to a table to set them down.

"I can give you some of my older robes, although they're probably a bit large."

Tom was about to refuse out of politeness but then he realized that he would need robes. "Alright," he said.

Frank disappeared and returned soon after with several robes. He set them on top of the books and said, "There's a hat and a winter cloak in there too." Tom nodded and said his thanks while Frank looked at the list again. "Hmm, I might have an extra cauldron and telescope. Let me check." Frank disappeared once more. Tom looked around the room he was in and tried to ignore the large crash he heard. Frank returned once again with a small cauldron which seemed to be holding several items. "This is my old cauldron. The bottoms kind of thinning out, but you can still use it."

Tom nodded. "What's in it?"

"Other stuff you need. In other words the vials, telescope, and scales. I managed to find a pair of gloves too. They're not dragon hide but they're still gloves. You're going to have to get your own wand, though."

Tom nodded. "You'll really let me keep all of this stuff?"

"Of course," Frank said smiling. "I don't use a lot of it anymore."

"How are we going to get all of this to the orphanage?" Tom asked.

"Umm, I'm not quite sure, but that does remind me. You still need a trunk." Tom didn't say anything. "I'm not sure what happened to my old school trunk anymore, though." He distractedly ran his hand through his hair. "And Susan never went to Hogwarts so she wouldn't have one either," he trailed off.

"Do you know where it might be? We can look for it," Tom said hopefully.

"Let me ask Susan if she knows where it is," Frank left the room to find his wife. Tom went to the door and opened it a crack. Doing so let him hear their conversation.

"Your old trunk?"

"Yeah, from Hogwarts."

"I think it's in the basement."

"Okay, thanks."

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, Tom needs a trunk."

"You're giving him an awful lot of your old school supplies."

"Yeah, well he needs them."

"I'm not saying it's not nice what you're doing, but--"

"But what?"

"Don't you think Tom might be leeching off you, just a bit?" Tom felt anger surge through his veins. He would have loved nothing more than if both of his parents were alive and able to take care of him.

"No, he doesn't really have any options."

"Alright," she said skeptically, "Just—you're so trusting. Make sure to watch out for yourself."

Tom heard Frank descend the steps to the basement and softly closed the door. Frank was soon back from the basement with a battered trunk. "Found it," he said, smiling.

Tom forced a smile, and tried to ignore his feelings of hatred toward Susan. "Will it hold everything?"

Frank nodded, and opened the trunk. He reached in and pulled out a small black bag. "Oh hey, this is my old book bag. You can use this, too." Tom smiled and helped Frank put all of the supplies into it.

"What now?" Tom asked.

"Well," Frank started, "we need to get all of this to the orphanage."

"And how, exactly, are we going to do that?"

"The first thing that jumps to mind is to take the muggle bus. There's a bus stop nearby where you live, isn't there?"

Tom nodded. "But I don't have any money."

"That's okay. Muggle buses are cheap enough I can pay."

Tom nodded. "Thanks, for—for everything."

"No problem, glad to be of help. You still need to get a wand, of course, but you can do that once you save up some money. "

"Oh, yeah. But, how am I going to get inside Diagon Alley if I don't have a wand?"

"A friend of mine works at the Leaky Cauldron so I'll ask him to let you in. And I'll bring you you're bicycle back, soon enough."

"Thanks," Tom said again.

Frank said his regards to Susan and they left for the bus stop. Tom was surprised to find the faintest tinges of night beginning to snake their way across the sky. "It's late," he said, voicing his thoughts.

Frank simply nodded. They reached the bus stop in silence and waited it for to arrive. When it did Frank paid for both of them and they rode in silence. Tom looked at the sky outside. Pink and orange tints were now joining the darkening blue. "We're here," Frank said, bringing him out of his stupor. Tom dragged the trunk to the door and said farewell to Frank, thanking him also.

As he walked to his room he caught sight of Rose. "Hi, Tom. What's with the trunk?"

"It's from the treasure hunt," Tom said, quickly thinking of a lie.

"Can I see what's inside it?" Rose asked, looking at the battered trunk.

"Not yet," Tom said, grinning at Rose's confused look. "I can only open it on September 2nd at 9:37 pm."

"Whoa, cool," Rose said. "You're going to have to tell me what's in it," she continued, grinning.

"Of course," Tom said, going to put the trunk in its temporary home.

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Disclaimer: I don't own Tom Riddle.

A/N: I tried to make this chapter a bit longer and sorry for such a long wait. As always, check my profile for update info.


	9. Predator and Prey

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Nine: Predator and Prey

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"Tom. Hey, Tom." A soft voice was calling him. He squinted open one eye and saw the figure of Rose leaning over him. He quickly shut his eye again. "I know your awake, Tom," she said, giggling. "You opened your eyes."

Tom rolled over and then said, in a joking tone, "Nope. No Tom. Come back in five minutes."

Rose giggled again and replied. "Come on, Tom."

Tom finally sat up and smiled. "I give up, Rose. Your persuasion tactics are too good."

Rose smiled and hopped off the bed. "Come to breakfast soon, Tom."

"Will do," he said, standing up. Once Rose had left he changed out of his pajamas and went to grab a comb. It was then he noticed a letter on the room's dresser. (It was neither his, nor his roommates; it belonged to the orphanage.) Tom knew it couldn't be his Hogwart's letter as that letter was safely tucked in his pocket. He still patted it, just to be sure. Tom wondered if it could belong to his roommate but somehow he doubted it, the other orphans rarely received mail. His curiosity got the best of him and he snatched the small envelope from its resting spot. To his surprise, on the front, in small, neat handwriting, was written _Tom Riddle_. There were too many options to consider. The one thing he hoped it wasn't, was a letter from Hogwart's, telling him he had been rejected. Tom quickly ripped open the envelope.

_Dear Tom_, he read to himself, silently.

_I'm glad to see you got back to the orphanage safely. Its looks like it hasn't changed much in the five years since I've left. I hope the other children_--Tom could see the word "orphans" scratched out--_didn't ask too many questions. As you can see, I was true to my word and your bicycle is resting safely in the shed. Bet you didn't expect it so quickly, eh? I don't think anybody noticed me on my way to and fro. _

_Now, I hope you kept the map Miss O'Flannery gave you. (She told me about it when I stopped by.) You can use it to find Diagon Alley again, and buy your wand. I told you that I have a buddy in the Leaky Cauldron and he will indeed let you into Diagon Alley. His name is Herbert Crane and he's one of the waiters there. Just ask him and he'll let you in. But as a warning, he doesn't work Saturdays and Sundays. There's no point in getting all the way to the Leaky Cauldron to find you can't enter Diagon Alley. As far as prices of wands, they tend to range from 5 to 10 galleons. The only nearby place to get them is Ollivanders. I'm not quite sure what the muggle-to-wizard money conversion rate is. I think it's about 8 sickles to 1 pound. Gringotts can convert your muggle money to wizard money, they do it all the time for muggle-born children. And, before I forget to tell you, there is 17 sickles to one galleon and 29 kunts to one sickle. I'm not really sure how much pounds are worth in your world (about 8 sickles, pardon my humor) but if you don't have enough money you can always do jobs around the neighborhood for money. Truthfully, that might be a good idea even if you do have enough for a wand. It can never to hurt to have some extra money and you will have to buy more school supplies in the years to come. _

_I must finish this letter so I will simply say that I hope you have a good year at Hogwarts and feel fre_e_ to write to me._

_Sincerely,_

(Here there was a messy scrawl which

Tom presumed to be the signature.)

_Frank Bennion_

_P.S. Sorry if Susan didn't exactly take to you. I think you appearing so suddenly kind of freaked her out._

Tom looked at the letter for several moments before he tucked it back in its envelope and placed it inside his dresser.

_8 sickles to a pound and 17 sickles to a galleon, with wands costing an average of 7 galleons, _Tom thought. Did he even _have _a pound? Tom didn't want to think about it but he knew he should. Mentally, he tried to do the math, but failed spectacularly. He opened the dresser again (it kept all of his possessions, including pencils and paper) and was about to start writing down the numbers when he remembered that he was supposed to be going to breakfast. Tom sighed and forced himself to put the paper away. He decided to go back, as soon as he finished his breakfast, to continue his math. When it came to things like math he always had to write it down.

He inwardly sighed as he reached the breakfast table. _So many things to do, so little time_. Tom ate his breakfast in silence. He was wondering when he could read the books Frank had given him, along with how he could earn the pounds necessary for a wand.

"Hey, Tom?" Rose said, walking up to him.

Tom forced his eyes up from his eaten breakfast and swirling thoughts. "Yeah?"

"Can you help us play 'Predator and Prey'?"

Tom assumed "us" meant Rose and the other three orphans behind her. "How?" he asked, suspiciously. Sometimes the little kids' games had included ganging up on Tom, something he did not enjoy.

"We just need you to accompany us," one of the younger children said. Tom recognized him as the one that always tried to keep him out of their group. Tom figured his extra years intimidated the younger children, with the exception of Rose.

"Miss O'Flannery won't let us go out alone," another child, Henry, said quietly.

"You can play, too," Rose said, slightly taking offense at the other children's comments.

"It's okay. Thank you for the offer though," Tom said, tracing his finger along the edge of his bowl. "But what is the game? I'm just curious," he hastily added, seeing the other children's looks.

"We look around for animals and see if we can get them," one of the four year olds said.

_So in other words, a demented version of a nature walk,_ Tom silently thought. "Alright, let me just wash out my bowl," he said, standing up. The other children stood impatiently as he ran it under the running water. Tom analyzed them out of the corner of his eye. _Let's see, who do I have to baby-sit today,_ he thought bitterly. _There's Rose, but I don't really consider watching her a chore. I think Henry's pretty shy and quiet, so he should be okay. Chester doesn't like me so he'll probably be a bit of a troublemaker, but I think he's friends with Henry, them being the same age and all, so maybe he won't be too much trouble. As far as Robert, he's only three so let's hope he won't be too much of a trouble-maker. _"Alright, let's get going."

The group of children smiled as they headed for the front door, Tom behind them.

"Where should we go first?"

"I think the neighbors got a new dog."

"I thought it was only wild animals!"

"Hush, Chester! It can be both."

"Let's climb a tree!"

"That's just plain stupid, Robert."

"Don't call Robert stupid!."

_Ah, the joys of having to watch young children,_ Tom thought sarcastically.

"Oh, look! A dog," Rose said pointing to a rather weathered dog.

"I wonder if it's a stray," Henry said quietly.

"Quick! Positions men," Chester said ducking behind a fence. The other children quickly followed him. Tom crouched down but avoided stepping on the house's meticulously kept lawn.

"Pshhhww!" Henry made the noise to accompany an imaginary gun. Tom restrained himself from rolling his eyes at their childness. After all, they were children, he reminded himself.

"Blam!" one of the other children said.

"Quick, what's its position?" Rose asked, to seemingly no-one, or everyone.

Nobody seemed to have heard so Tom glanced around the fence. "Er, it's actually heading toward us." Indeed it was.

"Quick men! Throw the bombs!"

"Kablooie!" Chester articulated.

Tom continued looking around the fence at the dog. It certainly seemed like a stray. Tom wondered if it was a coincidence the dog was heading their way or if it could really smell them.

"Blam blam blam!"

"Kapow, kapow!"

"Uh, hey guys?" The dog was precariously closer.

"Psshhww!"

"Re-load!"

"Guys?" Tom could hear the dog's growling.

"What?" The dog broke into a run. Tom had never met a rabid dog before and was hoping to keep that record clean.

"RUN!"

The dog had just reached them. All of the boys broke into a run. Tom immediately stopped as he realized Rose was not with them. "Rose!" he yelled, running back.

The dog had its teeth bared, with a low growl in its throat. Rose seemed to be frozen, her eyes wide with fear. Tom ran forward, but not before the dog lunged, with its mouth wide open.

But the dog never reached Rose. As it was a foot away from her, it seemed to bounce off some--_something_. _Like, an invisible barrier_, Tom thought. The dog ran away, whimpering, and Rose was unharmed.

Tom slowly walked up. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Y-yes."

"What happened?" Tom asked, confused. He wanted to ask before the other children realized he wasn't with them and came back.

"I-I don't know. I was just really scared and then, it was suddenly going the other way." Tom decided not to press any further.

"Let's get you back to the orphanage." He could never bring himself to say the word "home."

Rose nodded weakly. "Tom?" she said as they were walking.

"Yes?"

"Can you not tell anybody?"

"Of course," he said, not quite understanding why, but trusting her judgment.

Rose nodded her thanks as they met the group of children at a sidewalk corner. They all broke into their questions of Rose's wellness.

"Are you alright?"

"Did it bite you?"

"What happened?"

"Were you scared?"

The last question seemed to bring Rose back to her normal self. She simply grinned a wide, mysterious, grin and left the other children questioning among themselves.

They walked the remaining block to the orphanage with Tom in the lead. As they entered the orphanage the other children dispersed, but Rose stayed behind. "Thanks, Tom," she said quietly. Rose gave him a quick hug before leaving to join the other children.

Tom stood there and felt the tiniest bit of guilt for lying to her about his Hogwart's supplies.

.

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Disclaimer: I don't own jack but the clothes on my back. (And the plot/OC characters.)

A/N: Sorry if this chapter took a while to come. As you can see, I'm trying to make them longer. I forgot something in Chapter Eight, so I will probably edit it, but the thing is small enough you won't have to re-read it. As always, check my profile for update info and thank you to my wonderful reviewers. Big thanks to Kuramakicksass for helping me with the pound/dollar/galleon conversions. (She'd really appreciate it if you read her work and I would too.) The conversions are still not entirely accurate, but more so. I figured that with inflation the conversion rates might have changed. I'm also trying to make sure the characters' speech stays accurate for the time. Thanks for reading and Chapter Ten should come soon.


	10. Visitors

**The Tale of Tom**  
  
Chapter Ten: Visitors

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"Boy! Hurry up, there. I don't pay you to dilly-daddle!"  
  
Tom sighed to himself. "Yes, Ma'am!" he yelled back, doing the best to keep his voice friendly.  
  
Tom felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. _Why is it so hot today?_ his thoughts pleaded. Garden work seemed to be the only work that Tom could seize and the fates seemed to make sure it was miserably hot on those days.  
  
It was one week till the end of summer and Tom had been working almost non-stop after figuring out that the wand would cost at least 15 pounds. If the elderly lady he was working for today paid the promised amount he would have exactly the necessary amount. Tom knew it was only an average, but somehow he felt that if he waited any longer he would be going to Hogwart's without a wand and that, certainly, would be bad.  
  
With a loud thump, Tom fell backwards with the stubborn weed still in his hand. "Boy, you better not be messing up my lawn!" Somehow the old lady seemed to have never learned Tom's name.  
  
"I'm not. Ma'am," he quickly added. He had long ago learned that if you showed people respect that you did not believe they deserved, they would buy it. It came in handy when collecting payment.  
  
Tom did a quick scan of the garden. Everything seemed to be in order. He smoothed out some of the wet dirt (he had watered earlier) and plucked a dead leaf off one of the rose bushes. Sighing, he grabbed the bag of weeds he had pulled up. At least he was finally finished working not only this lady, but the summer, too.  
  
Walking up to the screen door, he saw the woman watching him and made sure to make a point of delicately wiping his feet on the mat. "I'm finished, ma'am."  
  
"Good," she crowed. "Let me see. And throw those weeds in the dustbin by the street." Tom mutely nodded and went out to the curb while the lady, Tom had never bothered to learn _her_ name either, inspected the garden with a sour look on her face.  
  
"It looks...._okay_." He made sure to keep a neutral expression on his face. "Not great, but _okay_." Tom had a feeling she didn't want to hand out any compliments. "I'll grab my purse. You wait here." Tom obediently waited, wondering if there were different types of wands, and if so, what type he would get. "Here you go, boy. For three days of work, you get two pounds. I think that's awfully generous," she finished, smiling.  
  
"Yes, ma'am. Very. Thank you." Tom smiled in spite of himself. He now had an extra pound. It turned out the lady wasn't as stingy as he thought.  
  
Tom delicately folded the two pounds and placed them in his pocket as he headed toward his bicycle. He set off pedaling and didn't glance at the houses he had worked at so diligently over the last three weeks. He didn't really believe in looking back, either literally or physically.

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Tom arrived at the orphanage a half hour later. He had learned that if he wanted to be paid well he had to go to the wealthier neighborhoods. The orphanage was by no means in even a semi-wealthy neighborhood.  
  
Tom went to his room, well not so much his room as the orphanage's room, and sat down on "his" bed. The clock informed him that it was one o'clock. Tom scowled as he realized that he'd missed lunch; not that he cared. He wasn't that hungry.  
  
Lying back on the bed, Tom started to wonder what would happen when he went to get his wand and what the store would be like. Would there be the possibility to meet any fellow Hogwart's students? He thought longingly of the tomorrow when he would finally go back to Diagon Alley. _Why am I waiting until tomorrow?_ Tom suddenly thought to himself. Why couldn't he go today? Or right now? Tom leapt up. To think, that he could be a mere hour away from getting a wand and being embraced into the wizarding world. Checking the calendar, he saw that today was neither a Saturday, nor a Sunday, meaning that he could be let into Diagon Alley.  
  
Tom brushed his sweaty fringe out of his eyes, suddenly feeling a new burst of energy. Quickly locking the door, he opened his trunk and buried to the bottom, where the small amount of money he had was kept. He attempted to smooth out the crumpled bills, but gave up and simply stuffed them in his pocket. Tom quickly threw everything back in the trunk, figuring that there would be time later to organize it.  
  
"Miss O'Flannery?" he said, opening the door and hastily shoving his now-closed trunk beneath the bed. Tom searched through several rooms until he found her in the nursery. "Can—may I go down to the group of...stores?" Tom felt that he shouldn't be too specific, lest other children were listening.  
  
"Tomorrow," she said, not looking up.  
  
"What?" Tom said feeling all of the new-found energy draining out of him. "Why?"  
  
"Because we have a very nice couple coming over in the evening." Tom frowned. He hated whenever somebody came over to adopt. Many times they didn't adopt and the few times they did, they only adopted babies. Truthfully, he was unsure why nobody had adopted him as a baby. He wondered if it was his aura or simply his rotten luck. The thing he hated most about people visiting was the false hope it gave, and the fake, cheery atmosphere that seemed to appear in sync with the couple's arrival. Tom regretfully felt his good mood shatter, wishing he could've held on to it a bit longer. "Remember to wear your best clothes!" Miss O'Flannery called out to him as he stalked back to his room.  
  
Tom almost slammed the door as he entered the room but thought better of it. _No need to ruin their_ perfect _mood,_ he thought bitterly. One plus side of it, was that Tom knew he would be left in peace while the younger orphans scurried to each other in excitement.  
  
Making sure the coast was clear, Tom pulled out his trunk and buried the pound notes at the bottom. _Why do I even have to be here when they come? I know they won't adopt me,_ Tom thought to himself, shoving the trunk beneath his bed. He was currently loathing the small voice in his head that kept saying _But what if they do? Won't it be grand?_  
  
Tom flopped onto his bed staring at the not-so-scenic wood of the bed above him. _I wonder how long I have until they come,_ he thought, closing his eyes. _Maybe I have time for just a quick nap...._

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"Tom! Quick, wake up!"  
  
"Huh? What's going on?" Tom said, not quite awake.  
  
"They're here! Come on!" Tom sat up in time to see Henry tear out of the room.  
  
He yawned and slowly walked out of his room. Tom wasn't too concerned about making a good first impression; his age already prevented that.  
  
"...And this is Henry. He's _very_ well behaved, not to mention intelligent," Tom heard Miss O'Flannery, exaggerating the orphan's good qualities, as always. "Oh, yes, this is Tom. Tom, this is Mr. and Mrs. Owens," she said, gesturing toward the couple standing a couple of feet away. "They're thinking of adopting, isn't that wonderful?" Tom forced an uneasy smile and nodded.  
  
"Hello, Tom," Mrs. Owen said cautiously.  
  
"Hello, Ma'am," Tom replied, giving a slight nod of the head. Miss O'Flannery beamed. _It's not like I don't have manners,_ Tom thought to himself.  
  
"Tom is currently our oldest occupant at the orphanage," Miss O'Flannery started listing Tom's good traits. _Don't mention my eyes, don't mention my eyes, don't mention my eyes,_ Tom silently thought to himself. "And he has _the_ prettiest eyes." _AARRGGHH._  
  
Tom resisted the urge to bat away her hand as she held up his fringe. He tried to force a smile but it came out more as a grimace. _Aw, well. Close enough,_ he thought, as Miss O'Flannery led the happy couple to the nursery.  
  
Henry, Chester, and Robert immediately started talking about the couple that would hopefully be their parents.  
  
"Hello, Tom," Rose said, wandering over to him.  
  
"Hi."  
  
Both of them stayed silent for a moment.  
  
"Something on your mind?" Tom said, looking at Rose.

"They rub me the wrong way," she said quietly, shifting her weight.  
  
"Oh?" Tom said, a bit surprised that Rose was not taking to the couple, yet at the same time happy she was thinking for herself.  
  
"They...they somehow seem..._fake_" Rose said, struggling for worlds.  
  
"I can see that," Tom said, not really understanding.  
  
"Shame we have to be so polite, still," she said with a slight smile. "I'm not as good at hiding my emotions as you."  
  
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Tom said, smiling.  
  
"That's true. There are times it's good to be able to hide your emotions and there are times where it's good to show your emotions." Tom nodded, slightly surprised at how deep that statement was.  
  
Miss O'Flannery finally returned from the nursery, smiling. She was always excited when a hopeful adopter came over.  
  
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Normally she attempted to prolong people's visits, also.  
  
"No thank you, although we will probably come back later," the voice of Mrs. Owens drifted from the nearby exit.  
  
"We just wanted to stop by quickly," Mr. Owen said in his gruff voice. "Come back in a couple weeks, for a bit longer," he continued.  
  
"Please do," came Miss O'Flannery's voice.  
  
Tom heard the door close and his own sigh of relief.  
  
"We can all breath easier now, eh Tom?" Rose said, looking in his direction.  
  
Tom simply smiled a weak smile, his mind elsewhere. Something was stirring. A memory just beyond his grasp. _What was he forgetting?_ Tom knew it'd annoy him until he remembered, though somehow he doubted he ever would.

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_The mist was so thick, thick enough he had to fight his way through it. It was blinding him, forcing its way down his lungs like some noxious gas.  
  
He heard giggling, and for once, saw the damp grass beneath his bare feet._ What was that fairy tale? _he thought._ Something to do with a ring of mushrooms, and faeries.  
  
_His goal was even closer now. He could feel it in his bones. What was that sound? It sounded like singing. The words were so melodious. He could barely make them out, but it didn't matter, the unknown goal was even closer.  
  
What was this feeling? It felt as though he was being pulled upward, away from his goal. He attempted to pull himself closer, but to no avail. _So close...._ But he couldn't stop. His goal was getting further and further away. The words though, he could almost make out the words. What were they?_ So close. So far. Another night. Another fight.  
  
_But it was too late. He couldn't make out anymore. Because he was going upward. Up and up._

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Tom woke up. _What was I dreaming?_ he thought. _Another thing just out of my grasp, I guess._ He turned over and attempted to fluff up his pillow. _I'll think about it another night,_ he thought, drifting off to sleep again.

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Disclaimer: Still don't own Tom Riddle or Harry Potter. Shame, I know.

A/N: Sorry for such a long wait. I decided to give up on perfect format and use this style instead. Hence why this chapter is not in HTML. Also, anybody remember how Tom said Miss O'Flannery was always showing off his eyes? Anyway, please review!!


	11. Diagon Alley, Again

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Eleven: Diagon Alley. Again.

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"Honestly, Tom. Does everybody your age sleep this much?"

Tom didn't have to open his eyes to recognize the voice. "Hello to you too, Chester."

"Miss O'Flannery says to get your lazy bones out of bed," Chester replied, crossing his arms.

Tom still didn't open his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Late enough for your breakfast to be colder than ice."

"Good. It'll contrast nicely with the weather."

"Honestly," Chester said, walking out of the room.

Tom smiled at Chester's defeat and sat up. Ten-thirty, or so the clock said. _That isn't_ too _late_, he thought to himself. Although he would've preferred if his breakfast wasn't going to be "colder than ice," as Chester put it.

Dragging himself out of bed, he went through his normal morning routine, ending with his arrival at the breakfast table. Miss O'Flannery clucked her tongue reprovingly as Tom took his seat, pretending not to notice. _Great, what's the one thing better than sludge for breakfast? Cold sludge! _Tom thought sarcastically.

As Tom was choking down his breakfast, Miss O'Flannery said, rather suddenly, "You can go today."

"Go where?" he said, confused.

"You know where," she said briefly.

"No I--oh!" Tom said cutting himself off. How could he forget? He was going to get his wand today! He grinned to himself and quickly ate the rest of his breakfast. After he had finished his breakfast, he quickly ran to his room and grabbed his life savings of sixteen pounds.

As he rushed to grab the bicycle, Miss O'Flannery called out. "Be safe!"

Tom ignored her words as he took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. How could he have not noticed it before? Sweet like honeydew melons, sweet like a newly blossoming flower. Quickly grabbing the bike, Tom walked around to the front of the orphanage, careful to avoid interactions with the other children. He didn't feel like saying good-bye or making an excuse up for why he was leaving.

IVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVI

Tom's energy drained slightly as he pushed the pedals over and over and over again. _How much longer?_ he thought, consulting the raggedy map once again. _Just a bit further._

When Tom finally arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, just five minutes later, some of his weakening energy and excitement returned. Feeling in his pocket, he found all sixteen pounds there and proceeded to tie up his bicycle. _I'm almost there,_ thought Tom excitedly. He quickly and purposefully strode through the pub, only running into two tables, one chair, and a cat.

Squinting in the bright light of the courtyard, Tom tried to remember how he got into Diagon Alley last time. _Let's see, I think Frank used his....wand. That's right. I'm supposed to get his friend to let me in, _Tom thought to himself as he went back into the Leaky Cauldron. _Jeez, lately I've had a memory like a...like a...like a leaky cauldron, _he continued to think to himself, rolling his eyes. _If I can just remember _who _I'm supposed to ask. . . .nope__. Can't remember. Oh, who cares? I'll just ask one of them and hope it's the right person_.

"Umm, excuse me? I need to get to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies, and I was wondering..." Tom trailed off, embarrassed to state his situation. The man he had asked was giving him an apprising look.

"You're that orphan kid right?"

Tom felt his cheeks go hot. Would that be all he was ever known as? "That orphan kid?" He gave a small nod in acknowledgement.

"Sure, I can let you in," he said, setting down the glass he had been cleaning. "Name's Herbert Crane. You're Riddle, right?"

Tom nodded. "Tom Riddle," he said quietly. Why did his nerves always seem to desert him in new situations? All you had to do was mention he was an orphan and Tom became a mute, cowering figure. _Why can't I be stronger? Why do I have to be an orphan? _he futilely thought to himself. At least he had found the correct person.

"Uh, you listening, kid? I mean Riddle."

"Huh?"

"You're Frank's friend, right?"

"Er--I guess so. I've never really thought about it."

Herbert gave a slight smile, accompanied with a calculating look. Tom silently wished that people would stop trying to figure out how his mind worked, simply by taking in his appearance. _Stop thinking, brain,_ he silently scolded himself.

"Here you go," Herbert said as the wall became a doorway.

"Thank you," Tom said, the tone of his thoughts dripping into his voice.

"You're welcome," the stranger replied pleasantly as he walked away.

_Okay, deep breathes. I'm here. I'm finally here. Now, if I remember correctly, I have to get my money changed first. And that'd be at Gringotts. So to Gringotts first._

Tom walked to the tall, distinct building very quickly considering he had only been to Diagon Alley once before. He strode to the counter to and approached a goblin that wasn't busy.  
  
"I'd like to make a currency conversion," he said, surprised to hear the words come out so smoothly.  
  
"Which type of currency and how much?" the goblin asked.  
  
"Non-magic currency," Tom said, blinking. What else could he want to convert?  
  
"What _type_ of non-magical currency?" the goblin said, barely masking his annoyance.  
  
"Oh! Pounds. Sixteen pounds."  
  
"Very good," the goblin said, returning to his normal, brisk manner as Tom placed the bills on top of the high counter.  
  
Tom heard some clicking sounds and assumed the goblin was calculating what the conversion rate was. "Your amount comes to approximately 7 galleons, 9 sickles, commission included." Tom nodded as he took the now-coins off the counter. He'd forgotten that there was a fee for changing currency. At least the commission wasn't that large.  
  
Passing through the double doors, Tom took a deep breath and felt the last of his emotions melt away into the warm breeze. _I'm going to get a wand,_ he thought, stretching his arms out to the rays of sunlight. _Just wish I knew where the store was,_ Tom continued to think, with a slight smile to himself. But nothing could ruin his sereneness now. _I'll just explore for a bit._  
  
All of the shops exteriors were fascinating to Tom; he had never really explored Diagon Alley. He wandered aimlessly through several stores, looking and absorbing, but moving quickly, lest somebody corner him and ask what he was doing there. Many of the books in Flourish and Blotts seemed to be particularly interesting, but alas, Tom could only skim through them and hope they would be in the school library. After Tom had finished drinking in the appearances of all of the shops, he headed towards the one shop he had made sure to remember: Ollivanders.  
  
When Tom had first walked past it, he had barely noticed a shop there. After all, why would he? Most of the shops had colorful displays, bright signs, and excited students (which he happened to be avoiding). Not only was Ollivanders smaller than the other shops, it seemed to be a rather humble store. It didn't demand attention, yet, it was fairly obvious it got many customers.  
  
Tom stood in front of the small, shabby storefront, and looked at the dusty window display, drinking in the quiet magic of the place. He glanced up at the sign and thought for a moment. _382 B.C. is when this store was supposedly founded, but how did they know? And was it passed down from generation to generation? What if the Ollivander in line for the shop never got married or had kids? Or what if--what if--what if_ it's the same Ollivander! Could wizards live forever? But then again, why couldn't they? There were undoubtedly spells which could preserve a person's age or health. To think, you could do almost anything with just a few words.  
  
Gathering his nerves, Tom entered the small door which seemed to be a barrier to and from so much. A faint bell rang in the miles away from the entrance. He slowly walked in, afraid to disturb the ancient layers of dust that rest comfortably over the small room.

The voices Tom heard made him jump slightly. Of course he shouldn't have been surprised, it was a shop. Perhaps it was its quiet aura, or the fact he hadn't seen the young girl standing somewhat in front of him, waving a wand with sparks shooting from its end.  
  
"That'll be 6 galleons, 16 sickles."  
  
Tom quickly did some math. So that was one sickle _less_ than the average. That was good. It meant that wands might be cheaper than Frank had alluded to in his letter.  
  
What appeared to be the girl's mother paid the shop owner and beckoned to her child. The brown-haired girl seemed to have an older brother who started jovially chatting with her as they exited the shop, passing by Tom. The girl who had just bought her wand seemed to ignore Tom, which was fine with him, while the older boy gave him a slight smile.  
  
After the happy family left, as did Tom's slight feelings of jealousy, he realized how stiffly quiet the shop was. He realized a young man was looking at him, and quickly made to be viewing the shop. There seemed to be an innumerable amount of small boxes surrounding the entire room. On the back wall was a door, which Tom assumed led to more wands, as in a faded scribble was the word "Warehouse."  
  
Tom slowly walked forward, feeling in his pocket for the small amount of money he held.  
  
"Good day," said the shopkeeper in a quiet voice, similar to a whisper. "Starting at Hogwarts?" he added with a slight smile that did not seem to affect his dreamy, pale eyes.  
  
Tom nodded and said, "Yes, at the start of September."  
  
"I thought so. Let us begin. Please hold out your wand, or dominant, arm."  
  
Tom held out his right arm as the man--presumably Mr. Ollivander--took out a raggedy, brown tape measure. Mr. Ollivander started measuring the length of Tom's right arm, but left the tape measure to its own accord after that.  
  
"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful, magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. Every wand is different from all others but itself, depending on the length, type of wood, and lastly but most importantly, the type of core. And of course, Ollivander's provides only the finest wands to our customers." By the time Mr. Ollivander had finished his speech, many boxes were taken from their shelved spots.  
  
"That will do," the shop owner said, causing the active tape measure to fall to the floor. "Alright, try this wand out. Unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, made of mahogany. Just wave it a bit," Mr. Ollivander said, handing Tom a dark brown wand.  
  
Seizing the wand and giving it a couple of waves, Tom wondered how he would find the right wand. He would've felt awkward waving a stick of wood around for no apparent reason, if he hadn't suspected it was the standard way of testing wands.  
  
"Here, try this one," the shop owner said, taking the wand from Tom and giving him another one. "Twelve inches, maple. Dragon heartstring core."  
  
Tom once again grabbed the wand and waved it in several directions. He looked at the man who shook his head and took the wand once again.  
  
"Fifteen inches, beechwood. Another dragon heartstring one. Try again," Mr. Ollivander said, somewhat eagerly.  
  
For the third time, Tom tried out a wand new to him. It seemed no different than the other two wands he had tried. He wondered vaguely how many wands he would have to try out before he found his wand.

IVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVI  
  
_Twenty-second one, just tried, and failed,_ Tom thought to himself as Mr. Ollivander took yet another wand out of his hand. Was it a sign that he would be weak in the wizarding world? Was it the faster you found a suitable wand, the more powerful you were to become? Not only that, Mr. Ollivander was being annoyingly cheerful. Did the girl before him take this long? It didn't seem like it, but he'd only seen the end.  
  
"Ten and three quarter inches. Made of ebony with a unicorn hair core. Try it," the shopkeeper said, much too happily for Tom's liking.  
  
With a slight scowl on his face, Tom took the black wand and swished it around a bit. Nothing happened.  
  
"Well, let's see," Mr. Ollivander said, taking the wand and returning it to its narrow box. The shopkeeper returned to the endless shelves with a contemplating look on his face. He glanced at Tom and said quietly to himself, "Why not," while taking yet another long and narrow box from the shelf.  
  
"Yew. Thirteen and a half inches with a phoenix tail feather core. Quite powerful," the shopkeeper spoke while walking over to Tom, ignoring the fact that he was being intently watched by this eleven-year old boy. Slowly and carefully, Mr. Ollivander removed the wand from the box while Tom thought, _Twenty-three tried, twenty-fourth coming up._  
  
He handed the wand to Tom who in turn grasped it, but gently so, somehow telling that this wand would be different than the others. A sudden warmth spread beneath his fingers throughout the wand. _This one's it,_ his mind thought, quite on its own. He waved it purposefully and colorful sparks shot from the end.  
  
"Very good," the young man named Ollivander said, smiling. He gently took the wand back to put it in its box. While he was doing this, he gave Tom a curious look. "Have you ever heard," he started, "That the wand chooses the wizard?"  
  
Tom shook his head.  
  
"This is a very powerful wand," the man said slowly and carefully. "I think we can expect great things from you."  
  
Tom swallowed nervously.  
  
"What did you say your name was, again?"  
  
"It's Tom, Tom Marvolo Riddle," said the young boy, not quite sure what had inclined him to state his middle name.  
  
Mr. Ollivander cocked his head. "Are you, perchance, Muggle born?"  
  
Tom saw the man's eyes flitting about the room, noticing the lack of parents. The wand had long ago been returned to its box.  
  
"I'm not sure," Tom replied, not knowing what a Muggle was, but refusing to show his ignorance.  
  
The shopkeeper slowly nodded. "It comes to 7 galleons, 10 sickles." Mr. Ollivander handed him the box without breaking eye contact. Tom silently wished the man with pale, silver eyes would look away. He quickly ducked his head while he ruffled through his pockets, yanking coins out and setting them on the counter. The number Mr. Ollivander had stated seemed a bit high, but Tom wasn't going to panic yet.  
  
Finally the last of Tom's coins were deposited on the counter. Tom quickly bunched them together and counted. He was uncomfortably aware of Mr. Ollivander watching him.  
  
_2 galleons, 4 galleons, 6 galleons, 7 galleons, 2 sickles, 4 sickles, 6, 8,_ 9_ sickles._  
  
"Damn it," Tom muttered under his breath as he dug into his pockets again.  
  
"Is there a problem?" Mr. Ollivander asked in his near-whisper voice.  
  
_No, nothing's the problem,_ Tom thought sarcastically. _Oh, except for the fact that both of my parents are dead, I live in an orphanage, I'm flat broke, and I can't even pay for a wand. But besides that, absolutely_ nothing's_ wrong_.  
  
"I'm just, er, having trouble finding my last sickle," Tom quickly lied, making sure to look through his other pockets for the artifact that he knew wasn't there.  
  
"Where are your parents?" Mr. Ollivander said in an even quieter voice.  
  
"There--ah--around," Tom said. What an idiot he had been! He should have made sure he had had at _least_ 10 galleons before coming to Diagon Alley for his wand. Frank had been right.  
  
Tom ruffled through his pockets a bit longer for the money both of them knew did not exist.  
  
"Please," Mr. Ollivander finally said, holding up his hands. "Let me take care of the last sickle."  
  
Looking down at the ground did not hide the crimson shade Tom went. "You don't have to," he incoherently mumbled to the floor. "I have it...just...not with me."  
  
"Do not worry about it. Please feel no debt. Just--just remember this day," Mr. Ollivander finished, giving Tom a strange, seemingly piercing look.  
  
"Thank you," Tom said quietly, still looking at the floor. "I'll always make sure to remember."  
  
The shopkeeper simply gave a nod and added a silver sickle to the pile of seven gold galleons. The money was put in a type of locking drawer, along with a piece of paper which had several scribbles on it.  
  
"Thank you for coming to Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since 382 B.C." Mr. Ollivander said, returning to a more formal state.  
  
"Thank you," Tom replied, in a voice that was, for once, more than a whisper.  
  
_I wonder if all people in the wizarding world are that nice,_ he vaguely thought, clutching his new wand to him. Soon, after a long bike ride, Tom would be back at the orphanage. And then, it would be only one week until Tom boarded the train to Hogwart's at Platform Nine, and was whisked away to be fully immersed in the wizarding world.

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_**I think we can expect great things from you....**_

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Disclaimer: Nope, last I checked I didn't own Harry Potter or Tom Riddle. Also, part of Mr. Ollivanders spew was copied directly from the first book because I figured he would have changed his speech slightly, but only slightly, over the years.  
  
A/N: This author's note is basically info about when updates will come and why they will be kinda far apart in the future. 

Okay, so. I got Chapter Eleven up. (As you can see.) I'm not sure when the next chapter will come. I'd like to try to get it up before I start freaking about how soon school is starting. (September 8th) Also, be warned that once school comes I'm going to be way busier. I happen to be entering High School, and I don't really know what they expect so I'll probably be trying to make sure I don't horribly fail. So once school starts, expect updates _best_ once a week, on the weekends. Probably more like every other week, maybe every three weeks. One of the problems is that I tend to write these chapters late at night and once school starts I can't stay up late without collapsing half way through the day. (Something tells me my math teacher wouldn't be too happy about that.) So I shall try, because I also happen to like writing this story. I'm not going to abandon it, so don't worry if it takes a while. As always, check my profile for update info. I'm afraid that at the beginning of school I'm going to feel English-ed out since I know I'm going to have to write a couple of essays on my three summer reading books so updates will probably come a bit faster once I get settled in. And IRL I don't swear, but somehow I doubt you guys will care if Tom uses the word "damn." I'll probably raise the rating to PG, just to be safe. Okay, sorry for such a long author's note. And yes, I know it's Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Also, in case you can't tell, Document Manager still hates me.


	12. Platform Nine and ThreeQuarters

**The Tale of Tom**  
  
Chapter Twelve: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

.Tom blearily opened his eyes to the dim morning light. _What time is it?_ he thought, sitting up in his bed and looking at the clock. _Six-thirty?__ No wonder its so dark! Wait...why am I up so early?_ Tom continued to think, sorting out his thoughts. _Oh, I leave for Hogwarts today. I guess my body just refused to let me sleep in. _  
  
Swinging his feet over the side of his bed, he reached for his tattered Hogwarts letter and pulled out the train ticket. _Leave from Platform Nine at Eleven 'o clock,_ he thought to himself, reading the ticket. But in the back of Tom's mind, something was nagging him. Was the three-quarters _really_ a typo? And, after all, what type of typo was that? Maybe an errand comma or period, but all of the letters of three-quarters? Maybe the person making the ticket had been reading from two separate sheets and mixed them up. Or maybe at the King's Cross Station they used quarters and halves in their station numbers. After all, he'd never been there before.  
  
Yesterday evening, Tom had been given yet another map by Miss O'Flannery, this one leading to the Kings Cross Station. It was a bit further away than Diagon Alley, but Tom thought he could get to it in an hour and a half, walking, that is. That meant he'd probably leave at about 8, 8:30, or 9. Tom had a feeling it could be anyone of those times, depending on how restless he was.  
  
For the umpteenth time, Tom decided to check that his trunk was fully packed. He slid it carefully out from its spot underneath his bed, and, checking that his roommate was still snoring peacefully, opened it. Everything was neatly in its spot and the all of the clothes were still folded. Tom supposed that things would shift when he walked with it, but you couldn't plan for everything. _Okay, I really have everything. I'm really going to Hogwarts,_ he thought excitedly. The paranoid side of him kept thinking that somebody was going to pop up when he was at the Kings Cross and say "Ha ha! Gotcha! You're not a wizard after all, just a good-for-nothing orphan."  
  
Shoving the trunk beneath his bed, until closer to the departure time, Tom began pacing the room nervously. Would he do well? Could he actually have friends? Could he get away from his ever-haunting orphan background? As many times as Tom asked himself these questions, no answer seemed to prevail amongst the confusion.

-----------------------------  
  
"Can I write you?"  
  
"Of course you can."  
  
"I'll miss you, Tom."  
  
"I'll miss you too, Rose," Tom said, wishing he could just leave. It wasn't the big deal everybody seemed to be making it out to be. After all, he would be returning next summer, much to his unhappiness.  
  
"Bye, Tom!" the orphanage seemed to call as a whole, as he finally started off. Tom waved behind him but didn't say any words. After all, people come and people go. It's all just part of life, no point in getting attached.  
  
Tom stopped at the end of the block, looking back at the orphanage one last time. Relatively nearby it, another group of children played. He recognized them as a group of children who had gone to his school and constantly teased him.  
  
"When I come back," Tom whispered under his breath, "I'll be different than all of you. I'll be _better_ than all of you. I'll be a _wizard._"  
  
-----------------------------  
  
_How much farther?!?_ Tom exasperatedly thought. He was starting to worry he might miss the train. Of course, he had no way of knowing what time it was, but to him it seemed an unthinkable amount of time had passed.  
  
"Just. A. Couple. More. Blocks," Tom panted to himself, heaving the trunk alongside him. He was now in a more business-oriented district, and getting many strange looks. Inwardly, Tom hardly blamed them. An eleven-year old, carrying a trunk, with no parents in sight, was more than a bit out of the ordinary. Outwardly, he was unhappy he seemed to be attracting so much attention.  
  
Tom stopped at a busy intersection and sat down on his trunk as the cars whizzed by. _One, two, three,_ he attempted to count them, but decided rather on simply closing his eyes. The sound of passing by automobiles stopped and, having heaved his weighted trunk off the ground again, he crossed the street with the rest of the masses.  
  
Hearing the sound of a steam train leaving made Tom have energy, once again. After all, if he could hear the trains coming and going from the Kings Cross Station then he must be relatively close to it.  
  
After several more minutes (about 5) Tom finally arrived to the Kings Cross. Or at least one side of it. He silently cursed as he walked several more blocks to reach the entrance.  
  
"Finally!" he panted, setting his trunk down and giving his weary arms a short rest. Removing the train ticket from his pocket, Tom glanced down at it once more. "Platform 9, eleven o'clock," he muttered under his breath.  
  
Not daring to catch his breath for too long, lest the train leave soon, Tom quickly grabbed his trunk once again. _Platform nine, platform nine,_ he thought to himself as he looked up at the numbers prominently displayed over the stations. _Six, seven, eight.__ Ah, here it is. Platform Nine._ Tom set his trunk on its end and took a deep breath. The nearby clock read 10:23. _So I'm actually a half hour early,_ he thought, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that platform nine was not the correct platform. After a short bit of waiting, he decided to find out if his fears had any grounding, and approached the ticket booth.

"Excuse me?" Tom started.  
  
The woman behind the ticket counter looked up. "Look, kid, go back to your parents."  
  
Tom remained unfazed by her implied insult. "May you please inform me whether or not the eleven o'clock train has come in yet?"  
  
The ticket lady's expression became one of confusion. "I can check," she said, flipping through a stack of papers, "But I don't think there _is_ an eleven o'clock train."  
  
As the woman continued flipping through papers, Tom silently smiled to himself. Evidently the fact he had not backed down and been respectful had earned her trust.  
  
"Just as I thought. There's no eleven o'clock train. There's a twelve o'clock. Is that the one you're thinking of?"  
  
Tom frowned and slowly replied, "No, I don' think so. My ticket says eleven o'clock. What about the train leaving from platform nine?"  
  
She ruffled through more papers. "Well, we had one leave from there at eight thirty, and the next one leaves at twelve thirty."  
  
"Er--are you sure?"  
  
"Yes." The woman looked at Tom. "Say, kid, where are your parents?"  
  
Tom quickly formed a lie to the question that seemed to forever accompany him. "Oh, I was staying with my Aunt here, but now I'm going back up north to my Mum and Dad."  
  
The woman nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Well, sorry kid. I can't think of anything."  
  
"Are there--are there half-stations?" Tom cautiously asked.  
  
"You mean like eight and a half, nine and half?"  
  
Tom nodded.  
  
The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry. Good luck," she added as Tom dejectedly turned away.  
  
Somehow his feet lead him to platform nine and ten once again. "They must be here," he desperately whispered to himself. _Nine, ten, nine, ten.__ Give it up, Tom,_ he thought to himself. _There is no platform nine and three-quarters and there is no train coming to platform nine. It was all somebody's sick idea of a joke._ But Tom's inner conscience wouldn't let him give up that easily.  
  
He started to think what he could possibly do, and whether or not the train had left early, or whether nine and three-quarters really meant platform ten, or whether the train was simply going to be late by an hour and a half.  
  
Tom's thoughts were interrupted when a business man stepped on Tom's foot and yelled, "Get out of the way, kid!"  
  
Scowling, Tom decided that maybe in the middle of a crowd was not the best place to think. He picked up his trunk for the hundredth time and decided to stand by a wall, where he could think in peace.  
  
_Ten-forty,_ Tom desperately thought as he went to lean against the closest wall, the wall between platforms nine and ten. Still holding his trunk, Tom made to lean against the wall, but, he found to his utter surprise, there was nothing there. He seemed to have simply fallen into the wall. Flinging his arms out in a miserable attempt to keep himself from falling, he saw that rather he had not fallen into the wall but _through_ the wall. Finally, he hit the hard concrete below him. Tom was positive time had slowed its pace as he fell.  
  
Quickly shoving his trunk off him and standing up, he looked around. There were many people--around student age, Tom noticed--milling about and a red train next to the platform. Looking back where he had come from, he saw a sign that said "Platform Nine and Three-Quarters." So there _was_ a platform nine and three-quarters! In front of him was yet another sign, but this one said "Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock."  
  
Tom was so busy taking in his surroundings he didn't notice a girl break off from her group of friends and head toward him.  
  
"Are you alright?" she asked, making Tom jump slightly.  
  
Tom replied with the first thing that came to mind. "Huh?"  
  
The girl, she appeared to be about fifteen, simply smiled and said, "It looked like you took a bit of a fall."  
  
Tom winced. He had been hoping nobody had seen him. If the girl noticed she didn't say anything. Instead, she held her out her hand. "Mary Berger. I'm a fifth year prefect."  
  
"Tom Riddle," he said, shaking her hand. "I'm starting my first year," Tom added.  
  
"I'm guessing you're Muggle-born, like me," she said with a smile.  
  
Tom paused, right before he spoke. As reluctant as he was to reveal his ignorance, he'd have to some time. "Actually, I don't know what a Muggle is."  
  
"You probably are Muggle-born, then," Mary said, her smile remaining in place. "A Muggle is a non-magical person. Somebody who is Muggle-born comes from an entirely non-magical heritage.  
  
Tom nodded in understanding. "But I know my Mum was a witch." Several days after he had received his Hogwarts letter his curiosity had gotten the best of him and he had asked Miss O'Flannery if either (or both) of his parents were magical. She replied that his mother had been a very powerful witch, but changed the subject when it came to his father; like she always did.  
  
But now Tom regretted saying anything. The teenage girl was looking at him with a look of curiosity, a look he had gotten so many times. Desperate to draw attention away from his questionable parentage, Tom searched for a question to ask, and found one.  
  
"How do Muggles find out they're magical?"  
  
The prefect's face instantly lit up. "It's quiet interesting, actually. You see, when all wizards and witches are younger, even if they don't know about it, they have magical power within them. And if they're feeling a particularly strong emotion then often times this magic shows itself. The Ministry (or Hogwarts, I'm not quite sure) senses this underage magic and records the child under a list of all the wizards and witches and, when they're old enough, they're sent a letter of acceptation from Hogwarts."  
  
Tom analyzed what she had just said. "Wait, what do you mean the magic shows itself?"  
  
"Just, like, little things." The Hogwarts prefect was stumbling over the words in her excitement to explain it. Tom had a feeling nobody had ever asked her about this area she knew so much about it. "Like, let me think of an example. Alright, here's one. If the child is mad that their sibling got a toy they didn't, then that toy may suddenly disappear, or mysteriously break, or disappear from their sibling's room and appear in their room. Things like that."  
  
Something long forgotten was stirring in the depths of Tom's mind. "What if the child was scared, or angry?"  
  
"Well, if they're angry, then something nearby where they're focusing their anger might break, or shatter. That's just one example. If they're scared, then they may suddenly find themselves far away from the situation or they might, like, be protected from any harm, as though they had a big bubble around them or something."  
  
Tom nodded. The puzzle pieces seemed to be creeping closer to each other. "And if, for example, the child is in a fight, then they might not be able to be touched?"  
  
Mary nodded. "Exactly."  
  
"Are there ever people who do this type of accidental magic once or twice but it turns out they aren't wizards?"  
  
The girl shook her head. "Never. If they do magic even once then it means they're a witch or a wizard."  
  
Tom nodded at Mary as the puzzle pieces snapped together. They were both silent for a while until Mary said, "Do you want to hear about the four different houses?"  
  
Really, Tom didn't particularly care about whatever houses were, but he could tell Mary was itching to explain Hogwarts to somebody. And Tom just happened to be that lucky somebody. "What are houses?"  
  
"Well," she started, "There are four main houses. You're sorted into one of the houses and that's where your dorm is, who you have your classes with, etc. You have the same house for all seven years you're at Hogwarts." Tom nodded along while she said this. "Each house is known for the qualities most prominent in it. Ravenclaw is famous for being smart, Gryffandor for being courageous, Hufflepuff for being loyal and hard-working, and Slytherin, well, they're just trouble. You'll want to avoid them. They've produced more dark wizards than one can count. I'm in the--"  
  
"Wait, what do you mean, 'dark wizards'?" Tom asked skeptically.  
  
"You know," she said, immediately abandoning the tangent she had just started off on. "Just, bad news. Evil."  
  
"What do you mean 'evil'?" Tom said, with a smile one might give to somebody in an insane asylum.  
  
"They're evil. What part of that don't you understand?" Mary said, starting to get annoyed.  
  
"What makes a wizard 'evil'?" Tom said, his voice heavy with doubt.  
  
"They use a lot of dark, evil, spells and curses."  
  
He gave a smile to Mary that one might give a child who was saying the moon was made out of green cheese. "So there are 'evil' spells?"  
  
"Of course!" she exclaimed. She was clearly becoming annoyed.  
  
"You honestly believe that?" Tom said, looking at her.  
  
"And what, you don't?" Mary said hotly.  
  
"I stopped believing in faerie tales when I was five years old."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?!" her face was becoming flushed; the calmer Tom was, the angrier she became.  
  
"Evil doesn't _really_ exist. It's just a thing of fairy tales. Same thing as good. Yes, there are people who aren't very nice, but it doesn't mean they're _evil_."  
  
The prefect was sputtering indignantly.  
  
"Good and evil is a thing of stories and fairy tales. True good and evil does not exist, rather there are shades of neutrality."  
  
Mary was still sputtering but she managed to form a thought. "You--you--you're evil!" she finished, maybe not quite believing the words, but saying them in an attempt to hurt Tom.  
  
"You mean because I think for myself as opposed to listening to what everybody else says about good and evil?"  
  
At this the fifth year opened and closed her mouth with no sound emitting, rather like a goldfish gasping for air. "You--you little--" she started. "You're going to be sorted into Slytherin! I just know it!" the prefect screeched. Tom knew this was supposed to be an insult but he also knew she was just randomly saying things, unnerved. "You little--" he could tell she was considering using a not-so-nice word here "--you little hooligan!" the prefect finished, storming back to her group of friends.  
  
Tom couldn't help smiling. Yes, he felt a bit guilty, but he had just won in a small battle of wits with someone four years his senior. And he truly did believe that only neutrality existed.  
  
At this point yet somebody else approached Tom. "I saw you defending yourself," the young boy said, nodding toward the girl Tom had just finished talking with. "It's good to see someone stands up for themselves. You'd be surprised how many people just let themselves be walked all over."  
  
Tom couldn't help but smile as he replied. Nobody had ever given him a compliment, especially saying he was _strong_. Normally he as called weak and cowardly. "Thanks," Tom said with a small nod of the head.  
  
They both said nothing for a moment until the other boy spoke. "Myron Nex," he said, extending his hand.  
  
"Tom Riddle," he replied shaking the boy's hand.  
  
"Riddle?" the boy said looking at Tom. "I haven't heard that surname before. Are you pure-blood?"  
  
Tom had no idea what a pure-blood was. He knew some people were Muggle-born, so he figured pure-blood was probably a reference to your heritage. Quickly reaching a conclusion of what would be best he replied. "Yes, I am."  
  
Nex smiled. "Say, do you want to drop your trunk off in my compartment?"  
  
"Sure," Tom said, lifting his heavy trunk off the ground. "Where is it?"  
  
"Towards the end of the train. Here I'll take an end," Nex said, referring to the trunk.  
  
They quickly reached his compartment and deposited the trunk. "How long until the train leaves?" Tom asked glancing around for a clock.  
  
"Probably about five minutes," Nex replied. At this a whistle sounded. "Or not," he quickly added to his previous comment.  
  
Both of the boys took a seat opposite of each other as the train started moving. Tom pressed his forehead to the window and watched as the train slowly gained speed, many families waving to their children. He tried not to dwell on it, and, for once, succeeded. House after house whizzed by as Tom closed his eyes, reviewing what had happened so far this day. _At least I finally solved that problem which was bugging me, or subconsciously bugging me, rather. Very interesting. I guess Rose_ is _a witch._  
  
..  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor his world.  
  
Disclaimer Two: Disclaimer two you ask? Yes, immensely confusing. Alright, here's the story. So, I was trying to figure out, realistically, about how long it'd take Tom to walk to the train station. (If you don't feel like a particularly boring disclaimer just skip this.) It's a 20 minute walk from Grimmauld Place, but a three and a half hour drive from Privet Drive, so I was more than a bit confused. To solve this, I decided to try and find out where Vauxhall road was, figuring that it had to be fairly close to where Tom lived. So I found this map at: Basically, that map is where I got the rough amount of time it took Tom to get to the Kings Cross. And, I guess I have to say I don't own it, 'cause I don't. I suppose that also means I don't own the distances/time but I'm not going to go that deep. Basically that's where I got the rough time from. And while I'm here I'm going to stick in another disclaimer. Once again, I'm not quite sure what I'm saying I don't own but I'm saying it anyway. In future chapters, whenever I mention characters ages or what not (including McGonagalls) this is where I got them: Of course, there are other additional time lines, but that one is the one during Tom's life. However, I would also like to say that I came up with some of Tom's dates on my own. Turns out I did my math wrong, but somehow it still worked out. shrugs So once again, I don't own that timeline and I suppose I'm giving credit it to them, same as the map. So its not so much a disclaimer as a...credit giver? Dunno. I'm too tired to really think. And, yes, I asked if I could use the dates and they said yes. They said some other stuff, too, that I didn't quite get, hence this horribly long disclaimer/credit-giver. Review: this is to keep J.K. Rowling from suing me for borrowing her characters and to keep Harry Potter Lexicon from suing me for forgiving to give them credit. And now, now its time for the Author's Note. Yes. It's not over yet. Save yourself while you can.  
  
A/N: Okay, expect this to be the last chapter before school. I thought about making it longer but, well, as I write this its late at night, I need to wake up early tomorrow, and this one of my last free stretches of time. So instead I'm going to do the sorting and actual train ride in another, shorter chapter. Maybe I'll combine the two, eventually. This also reminds me that I am planning on, eventually, combining several of the earlier chapters as they are so short. I will probably combine Chapters 2 and 3 and Chapters 4, 5 and 6. If and when I do this, I'll leave Chapter Seven and One alone. Why? You ask? I have my reasons. Feel free to ask and I shall state them, for now, I feel that any of you actually reading this note would scream in terror were I to make it any longer. So, anyway, in theory once I do this, it'll make the story, three chapters shorter, I think. I'll state in my profile when I'm gonna do it. Probably once the Document Manager actually starts to like me. And, no, the name "Mary" is of no reference to "Mary-Sue" so don't ask. I didn't even think about that until she had already served her entire purpose. And, next chapter, (which is presumably when the sorting will occur, although I won't guarantee anything) I probably won't have a song to go with the hat. I started to write a song, I really did. It ended up being one line long. So, needless to say, I'm not going to use it. Maybe sometime in the distant future, if I can actually think of a good song, I'll post one. But don't count on it. Wow. You've actually read this far! I feel like you deserve a prize, or something. Here, one teeny scrap of information about chapter twelve: Myron has a brother. Reading this entire note probably wasn't worth that but, well. Congratulations. You have nerves of steel being able to make it this far. And, as always, my profile will dictate when the next update is coming aaaaand: Please review!! 


	13. The Serpent's House

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Thirteen: The Serpent's House

(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)(l)

"Mind if I join you?"

Both Tom and Nex looked up simultaneously. A boy of about their age stood in the open doorway of the compartment.

"Sure," Nex said in response to the question.

"Thanks," the boy replied. "The train's packed."

Nex nodded as the stranger took a seat near Tom.

"Erik Sigourney," the boy stated. "But you can just call me Erik."

"Tom Riddle," he replied.

"Sigourney?" Nex said, setting his newspaper to the side. "Are you pure-blood?"

Erik ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "Half-blood. Both of my parent's are magical but my Dad's Muggle-born."

Tom turned away from Nex too soon to see his nose wrinkle in disgust. "So I take it you already knew about Hogwarts then?" Tom asked.

Erik nodded. "But my parents were still happy when we got the letter. We'd heard some false rumors that Hogwarts was only accepting pure-bloods this year." Nex muttered something under his breath that Tom didn't catch. "Thankfully, they weren't true. After all, it'd be awfully discriminatory if they did only allow pure-bloods."

"My parents knew I was going to be accepted but they were still happy when I got the letter," Tom said, speaking a lie.

"So what you think of the different houses?" Nex asked Tom.

"Ah," Tom tried to remember what the prefect had told him about the houses but could only recall scattered bits and pieces. "They all sound good to me," he finished, deciding to keep his opinion neutral.

Nex nodded. "I don't think I could stand being in Hufflepuff. They--"

"Hufflepuff wouldn't be that bad," Erik said, interrupting Nex.

"Which house do you hope to be in?" Tom quickly spoke to Nex, noticing his glare at Erik.

"Slytherin," he replied, looking at Tom. "It's the house my brother's in." Tom nodded to be polite and then, noticing Erik's glare at Nex, asked Erik the same question.

"I don't know," he replied. He seemed to be considering saying something else, but decided against it. "I think I agree. They all sound good," Erik finished, smiling at Tom.

"Do you play Quidditch, Tom?" Nex inquired.

"Huh?" Tom replied, then silently scolded himself.

"Do you play Quidditch?" he repeated, simply believing or choosing to believe that Tom had simply not heard him.

"No, 'fraid I'm not very good at it," Tom spoke, assuming it was some time of game.

Nex smiled. "Its hard, but I really enjoy it. I want to try out for beater next year. It's too bad they don't allow first years to play."

Tom nodded, having no idea what Nex had just said. "Too bad," he simply repeated.

"If you want I can give you lessons," he earnestly offered.

"Really?" Tom asked.

"Sure, it'd be my pleasure."

"Thanks," he replied, hoping that "Quidditch" would be easy. "So do you play, Erik?" Tom asked, feeling he should include the third boy in their conversation.

Erik certainly seemed to be glad that somebody was talking to him as he scooted forward eagerly in his seat. "Love it. I want to try out in a couple of years, but I don't know where. I like all of the spots except chaser." Tom nodded along, once again not understanding what the other boy was saying. "So what's your team?"

"I don't really have one," Tom replied, now grasping that "Quidditch" was a sport.

Erik launched into a long speech about the different teams and which one was his team. Nex took out his newspaper again and Tom stared intently at a spot over Erik's shoulder; it had never seemed more fascinating.

"Food!" Nex abruptly shouted as the door of their compartment slid open yet again. Erik stopped in mid-sentence and Tom tore his eyes from the small spot on the train compartment's wall. Nex caught his eye and gave Tom a small grin which Tom thankfully returned.

"Anything off the trolley, m'dears?" Both Erik and Nex jumped to their feet and quickly walked over to the small cart with food on it while Tom just wandered over, curious. He gave a quick peak at the cart, which seemed to be packed with types of candy, and returned to his seat.

Both of the smiling boys returned with their hands full of colorful sweets.

"Ah, my favorite lunch of the year," Nex said, grinning at Erik as they both set down their sweets.

"That was lunch?!" Tom exclaimed.

Erik and Nex both burst into laughter. "Yes, it was," Erik said, half-way through eating some type of pasty.

"You didn't know that?" Nex said, chortling.

"I'm an only child," Tom stated feebly in his defense.

"Don't worry," Erik said, patting him on the shoulder. "You can share our stuff."

"Thanks," Tom replied with a sigh of relief. "But don't expect me to pay you back," he added with a grin, although he was serious.

"Of course not, pal," Nex said.

"So what's good?" Tom asked. "My parents don't let me have sweets very often," he added before either of them could ask.

"Here," Erik said, throwing a soft, small package at Tom. "Try a pumpkin pasty, they're pretty good."

He quickly ripped open the package and took a bite into the fluffy orange pasty. "Whoa!" he exclaimed at the burst of sweetness.

The other two boys burst into laughter once again. "You're parents are cruel if they've never let you have a pumpkin pasty," Erik said while laughing. Tom froze and got the sudden urge to scream at Erik, scream that his parents would never be anything but nice, and how dare he insult his parents and yet take his own parents for granted. Instead Tom choked down the words fighting their way up and gave a slight smile. The compartment finally stopped ringing with laughter and he took another bite of the pasty. It wasn't as sweet as before.

The compartment door slid open again. "Hey, Myron, mind if I hide with you for a bit?"

"Go ahead," Nex said, ripping open a bag of jelly beans with his teeth. "What are you hiding from, if I may ask."

"I think Seth's hoping to start a food fight, and I'd rather keep my robes clean." Tom noticed that the boy was wearing black wizarding robes.

"Sure," he replied, popping a jelly bean into his mouth and immediately gagging.

"You need to be more careful when you're eating those," the boy said smiling and grabbing another wrapped sweet.

"I can't help it if I'm adventurous," Myron said, coughing.

"Careful, now. Hate to explain to Mum that you choked to death in the train," the stranger replied casually.

"Gosh, I can feel the love," Nex sarcastically replied.

"Don't worry, I won't let you," he said, ruffling the other boy's hair.

"Ack! Leave my hair alone," Nex said, rapidly running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to straighten it.

Both of the other boys were watching this exchange with great interest, and the unknown boy finally seemed to realize this. "Owen Nex," he said shaking Tom's hand.

He was about to shake the other boy's hand when Myron suddenly stated, "He's a half-blood."

Owen withdrew his hand as though from an electric shock, but seemed to realize the awkwardness as he quickly ran his hand through his hair. Tom gave Erik a confused look, wondering what had just happened. Erik simply answered the unspoken question with a look that said, "I'll explain later." Tom gave an uneasy nod as Owen started talking again.

"I'm Myron's older brother. You can just call us by our first names, otherwise it gets a tad confusing."

The fact they were related was a slight shock to Tom. They both acted as though they were brothers, but they looked like photographic opposites. Owen had dark brown, almost black hair and slightly tan skin. Myron had sandy brown-blonde hair and a pale complexion. His eyes were endless abysses of liquid onyx while Owen's looked like glowing orbs, changing from brown to gold depending on the angle from which you gazed at them.

"I didn't know you still went to Hogwarts," Tom stated.

Owen nodded. "I'm only two years older than Myron here."

"So you're a...third year?" Tom asked. Erik was still fuming silently, currently attacking a cauldron cake.

The older boy nodded once again. "I get to go to Hogsmeade this year, which is good."

"You better get me some stuff from Zonko's," Myron said, deciding to try another jelly bean. Evidently he had not seen any awkwardness.

"So who are your friends here, Myron?" Owen asked, changing the subject.

The younger boy looked up. "Oh, this is Tom Riddle."

Tom waved hello as Owen curiously cocked his head. "Are you--" he started.

"He's pure of blood," Myron said, cutting his brother off. Tom simply figured that asking somebody's heritage was a way of greeting in the wizarding world. After all, both Mary and Mr. Ollivander had asked him if he was Muggle-born, and that was in addition to Myron and Owen asking him if he was pure-blood.

"This is Erik Sigourney," Tom said, introducing the last boy. The blonde-haired boy took a steadying breath and pasted a small smile on his face. Owen gave a forced, close-lipped smile in return while Myron just gagged on another jelly bean. Tom didn't notice any of this except Myron spitting out the green jelly bean.

"You alright, Myron?" Tom asked.

"Yes," the other boy gasped. "Never touching that color again," he added to himself.

"What _are_ those?" Tom asked.

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," Myron replied, holding out a small plastic bag. "You want one?"

"It's...okay," Tom said, eyeing the bag warily.

"Are you sure? I've just been having rotten luck."

"Yes," Tom stated.

"Your loss," Myron said, promptly choking on another one of the jellybeans.

"I should get going, little bro," Owen cut in, standing up.

"Alright," Myron said, getting his breath back.

"Remember to change into your robes," Owen stated, walking over to the door.

"Will do." The compartment door slid shut.

"So that's your brother," Tom said, stating the obvious.

"Yep." Myron's eyes flickered down to his watch. "Well, it's a while until we arrive but maybe we should change anyway."

"Sure." Both Tom and Myron stood up, with Erik following a bit more reluctantly.

"Which one's yours?" he pointed to the trunks.

Tom grabbed his trunk and yanked it down "This one."

Nodding, Myron also pulled his trunk down from its shelf. It caused the compartment to shake slightly.

"These trunks are way too heavy," Tom said with a wry smile. He kicked open his trunk and slightly straightened out the items that had been jostled during the journey, that is, after pulling out a pair of robes. Putting them on, Tom realized they were much too long. _I suppose I'll just have to make do,_ he sighed.

"Think I'll read my book," Erik said to himself. Silently agreeing that this was a good idea, Tom pulled out one of his spell books and closed his trunk. All three boys hoisted up their trunks again, one after the other.

"Do you want to play Exploding Snap, Tom?" Myron asked just as Tom had opened his book.

"Huh?"

"Exploding Snap," Myron said, holding up a small box that Tom assumed contained it.

"What's that?" he asked.

"You've never heard of Exploding Snap?!" the other boy asked, shocked. "Are you sure you're pure-blood?" he added in a joking tone.

"Of course!" Tom exclaimed. He did not want the other boy to become suspicious of his orphan-status.

"I'm sorry, that was uncalled for," Myron apologized.

Smiling with relief, Tom replied, "That's okay. And thanks, but I think I'll just read for now."

He nodded, "Sure."

The journey continued in silence except for the rustling of turning pages. Tom noticed the sky outside was slowly becoming darker as the sun set; it appeared as though the night sky was overpowering the last rays of light before fully extinguishing them.

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to school separately."

"Guess this is it," Erik stated to the silent compartment.

Tom closed his book and placed it back in his trunk. The entire train now seemed to be crackling with excitement and the murmurs of other compartments were more pronounced. Standing, Tom rocked on his feet and resisted the temptation to pace the small compartment.

"I think the train's stopped," Erik said quietly. Indeed, there was the sound of many compartment doors sliding open and the rush of bodies off the train. They opened their door and were drawn into the tide of moving people. All three boys were pushed onto the dark platform and Tom gratefully gulped the cold air, not realizing how stuffy the train had been.

"All first years, follow my voice! Follow my voice! First years, first years over here!"

Tom spun around and realized he had lost both Myron and Erik. "Oh, shoot," he whispered to himself. Desperately he scanned the crowd, but saw neither boy. The voice calling for the first years had also disappeared. "Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, sho--Owen!" Tom yelled, interrupting his near-silent cursing. The older boy's head turned having heard his name. "Owen!" Tom called again. Owen saw Tom and immediately his face formed an expression of confusion. "Where are the first years supposed to go?" he yelled over the sound of the crowd. The other boy opened his mouth in understanding of the situation and quickly pushed his way to Tom.

"You got lost already?" he asked.

"I can't help it!" Tom exclaimed, panicking slightly.

"Don't take it so harshly. Here," Owen said, stopping at a dark path. "Go down here until you reach the group or the lake. If I were you I'd walk fast."

"Thanks!" Tom yelled running down the pitch black path. There seemed to be a forest on either side of the path, and the path itself was covered with moss. He heard the sound of talking people and sped up, meeting the group just before the path ended.

"Hogwarts!" an adult voice spoke. The group gave a sound of awe and Tom looked up. A large castle stood on the other side of the rippling lake. _Hogwarts_, he thought, a smile forming on his face at the mere idea.

"All of you, get into a boat. But no more than four! We learned that lesson last year," the instructional voice added.

Tom saw Erik's blonde hair and quickly pushed his way to the front of the group.

"I was wondering where you went," Erik said, smiling. "Nex split off from me. He's one of those people who--"

"Hey, Tom! There you are," Myron interrupted Erik. The other boy frowned at this new arrival.

Noticing the other first years climbing into boats, Tom spoke. "Let's get a boat, say what."

They all stepped into a boat, one of the last ones, and none too soon, for almost immediately the adult cried, "Forward!"

"Say, who is that?" Tom whispered, gesturing toward the front.

"Him? I think that's the caretaker. Or the gamekeeper, I can't tell which." Myron stayed silent after answering this question and Tom looked into the lake that was only surface, yet had infinite depth. _Everything seems so serene,_ he vaguely thought. There was none of the confusion, tension and hurry that one felt in the real world. There were none of the sounds he normally heard, the sounds of yelling and taunting. Instead, time froze but continued onward as they glided across the glass lake.

"Keep your head down!"

Everyone ducked in synchronization as they reached a cliff that was hidden with a curtain of ivy. The boats were now in a tunnel that lead underneath the castle and into an underground harbor. Climbing out of their boats carefully, the first years nervously huddled around each other. Silently, the caretaker/gamekeeper lead all of them up a stone staircase to a large door. The man looked around at the nervous faces, as though checking they were all there, and then, very slowly and deliberately, knocked on the door.

For a moment, the room was dead silent. The creak of the door opening was rather like a collective sigh.

"The first years, I presume?" A man in dark purple robes and auburn hair stood in the open doorway. Clear blue eyes surveyed the crowd of first years behind half-circle glasses.

"Yes, Professor."

"Very good, follow me." The professor turned around and set off at a brisk pace. They passed through a large entrance hall, that Tom was feeling to nervous to look at, and went into a small room. The first years crowded together into a very small group and Tom silently thought he had never been more claustrophobic.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am one of the professors here, Professor Dumbledore. The start of school feast will take place soon, but first you must be sorted into your house. This Sorting Ceremony is very important as you will be in the same house for all 7 years, and it will be rather like your family at Hogwarts." Tom smiled a smile of slight relief. The Sorting Ceremony couldn't be that bad, then. "You will share your dormitory, classes, and common room with your house. There are four houses and all of them are equally great. The houses' names are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Every year a house cup is awarded--which house gets it is decided by how many points each house has. One earns points for their house with triumphs, and losses points by breaking the rules. Let's hope we won't have to deal with the latter one." Dumbledore smiled. "Now, please wait here for a moment or two, until I come to show you to the Sorting Ceremony. Do not worry, it is a relatively painless process." He swept out of the room leaving the nervous first years to themselves.

Tom heard Erik mutter under his breath, "_Relatively_ painless. Great. Just great. _Relatively_ painless."

Tom took a steadying breath and rocked on the balls of his feet. "What's the sorting ceremony like?" he asked Myron, mainly to pass the time.

"I'm not sure," the other boy whispered back. "Owen wouldn't tell me, stupid git," he added.

Nodding, Tom continued nervously shifting his weight. Time appeared to have crawled to a stop. The door opened and the already silent first years became quieter, if it was possible. "Form a line and follow me," Professor Dumbledore spoke. Tom took a spot behind Myron and the line started moving; the eerie silence reminded Tom of a funeral march.

"This is it," he whispered to himself, recalling Erik's words, as the first years entered the large hall. The room was humongous and it seemed to Tom that words couldn't do it justice. There were five large tables in the room--four of which had students sitting at them, students which had suddenly gone very quiet. The professor which had brought them into the hall placed a stool on the empty floor. A pointed hat sat on the four-legged stool and Tom vaguely wondered why it seemed all of the students were looking at it. Tom's wonderings were suddenly answered when the hat burst into song, as well as a hat can.

Welcome one, welcome all

Back to Hogwarts and the Great Hall

All of you should listen well

For of your choices I shall tell

Hufflepuffs, the loyal and kind

While Ravenclaws are sharp of mind

Gryffindor the bold and brave

Slytherin their path they pave

Loyal and hardworking our Hufflepuffs are

They will go the distance, no matter how far

Kind and caring they are too

They will always lend a hand to help you

Ravenclaws the type of learning

For knowledge they are always yearning

Intelligence beyond all measures

Searching for knowledge is their pleasure

Brave of heart and pure of deed,

These Gryffindors, their courage leads

True to themselves and others too

If you challenge them that day you will rue

The cunning and clever of mind

Through magical power they bind

Slytherins posses great power

Before none they will ever cower

So now you know about all four

I hope I haven't been a bore

No more words to come

The sorting has now begun

The hall burst into applause and Tom nervously joined in. Why was a hat telling them about the houses? And what where they supposed to do with it? Tom was still horribly confused, and extremely grateful his last name was near the end of the alphabet.

"Aloysius, Juan!" Dumbledore called out.

A boy stepped out of the line and strode purposefully toward the stool. He sat down and placed the hat on his head. There was a moments silence before the hat called out "GRYFFINDOR!" The table with a banner of a lion nearby cheered loudly. Juan smiled and walked over to the group of students, which made a place for him.

The noise dropped and Dumbledore looked at the list infront of him once again. He called out another person, this time a girl, who was sorted into Hufflepuff. This happened many more times and each time an unknown person went up to the stool.

"Nex, Myron!"

Tom heard Myron's sharp intake of air. He walked toward the stool and Tom felt strangely exposed without anyone in front of him. Myron gave a slight smile to him before the hat was placed on his head and Tom returned it, nervous for his friend. The hat stayed silent for several moments before it seemed to reach a decision. "SLYTHERIN!" it bellowed across the hall. Myron gratefully pulled it off his head and stumbled toward the table his brother was sitting at.

"Paytah, Evelyn!" A girl with hazelnut-colored hair nervously approached the stool. _It's me next_, Tom thought. _I can just feel it._ He wasn't sure how much time passed while she was on the stool but it seemed like hours, although it was probably a mere minute.

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat yelled.

The hall echoed with a table's cheer. It slowly quieted down and the professor pulled out the scroll with the names on it once again.

"Riddle, Tom!" Tom swore his heart stopped as he forced his legs to go forward, unsure if his name had really been called. He stumbled slightly over his too-long robes, but luckily he didn't fall. The stool was finally in front of him and he nervously sat down on it, feeling awkward. Professor Dumbledore gave him a reassuring smile before placing the hat on his head. It slipped over his eyes and threw him into darkness.

"Let's see..." Tom practically fell off the stool with surprise; it seemed the hat was talking to him. Silently, he scolded himself for being so surprised. After all, he reminded himself, this was the wizarding world, where anything could happen. "You're very smart, and clever too. What else, what else. You seem to want to do well, and to learn, not just to pass. Well, I believe so far I've narrowed it down to either Ravenclaw or Slytherin--you wouldn't do very well in any of the other houses. Now what shall be the dividing point? Let's dig a bit deeper, shall we?" Tom silently waited for the hat to make its decision. "Now this is fascinating, I thought you just wanted to do well, but that's not true. You want more than to do well--you have a thirst for power, you wish to be more than what you are. I can see clearly, now. Slytherin's the only way to go. Do you disagree, perhaps? Have I judged you wrong?" He did think the Sorting Hat was wrong about his personality but as far as he was concerned all of the houses were similar, if not the same. "Remember this day, Tom Riddle," the sorting hat finished, leaving Tom to wonder in the mere second before it shouted a single word for the entire hall to hear.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The hat was pulled off of his head and Tom blindly stumbled toward the table where Myron sat. Both brother's patted him on the back and congratulated him mutely over the cheer. The Slytherins became silent and Tom breathed a sigh of relief, the sorting hat's words already slipping from his mind.

"Sigourney, Erik!"

Erik walked out of the remaining line and strode toward the hat, an oddly blank, serene look on his face considering how nervous he had been before. The boy sat down on the stool and before the hat was placed on his head, he gave Tom an odd look. As the hat slipped down over Erik's face, Tom felt oddly chilled. What had that look been? But he had no time to think for soon the Sorting Hat yelled Erik's house across the hall.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Tom inwardly groaned, he had been hoping that Erik would also be placed in Slytherin so he would have another friend in his house. Myron seemed as if he could care less and Erik seemed fairly happy as he sat down between two Ravenclaws.

Professor Dumbledore called out the last several names before the Sorting Hat and it's stool were removed from the Great Hall. "Finally!" he heard Owen whisper to himself.

"Hungry?" Myron quietly asked of his brother.

"You bet! I hope Dippet speaks fast."

"From what you've told me, the day Dippet says a small speech is the day the world ends," he said quietly.

Owen groaned and looked at the plate in front of him, as though wishing food would appear. An elderly man stood up at the front of the main table and people reluctantly stopped their conversations and looked at him. After what seemed like a while, the Great Hall was finally quiet and the man started speaking. "Welcome, welcome all to a new year at Hogwart's. I hope all of us can look forward to a new year and a fresh start, which will hopefully be used well by our more troublesome students." The headmaster seemed to look at several people whom Tom couldn't identify. "Now, for the first years that do not know, and the older students who seem to have...forgotten, magic should not be done in the corridors between classes. Also, team captains must schedule try-outs for missing spots and post this information in the common room. That is all, for now. Let the feast begin!" Food instantly appeared on the shining plates.

Tom gaped at this sight but Owen and Myron didn't seem the least bit surprised, indeed they continued chatting as though nothing special had happened. "Wonder when the world's going to end," Myron said airily as he reached for some food.

"I can't believe Dippet didn't drag on for ages and ages, like he normally does," Owen agreed. Tom blinked several times and uncertainly reached the food. When it didn't disappear he quickly filled his plate with food and voraciously started digging into it; the small lunch Tom had eaten seemed to have taken place ages ago.

"Hungry, Tom?" Myron asked laughing.

Tom blushed slightly and slowed down a bit. "Yes," he sheepishly stated.

"I can't blame you. Did you even have a lunch?" his friend asked asked.

"A small one," Tom said smiling and feeling more comfortable.

Myron smiled and returned to his plate in silence.

Soon Tom had finished his food and took to looking around the hall, feeling rather sluggish. Other people were still finishing their food and several silver things caught Tom's eye. "What's that?" he asked Myron, pointing toward the silvery object.

"That? One of the ghosts, I assume. I'm not sure which one." Myron pushed his eaten dinner away from him. "You can ask Owen if you care enough."

Smiling slightly, Tom spoke. "I don't think I do. I'll find out eventually, anyway."

Myron nodded and then pointed to the center table were Professor Dippet had stood once again. "Wonder what he's going to say," the boy spoke vaguely.

"Ahem. Now that all of us have eaten to you hearts content there are other matters I would like to discuss with the school. First of all, Hogwarts' overall OWL scores have dropped by 2 and although this seems like a small percentage if you compare it with the past records of Fifth year testing--"

"Augh," Owen whispered to himself, gently banging his head against the table several times.

"What?" asked Tom.

"This is the start of one of Dippet's famous ramblings. He could compete with Binns' for the putting-students-to-sleep award."

Tom sleepily nodded, vaguely wondering who Binns was, but not caring enough to ask. Professor Dippet certainly did continue for a long time, and he seemed to rotate through a variety of topics, none more interesting than the last.

"I think he's finally wrapping up," Owen spoke.

"Prefects, please take the first years to their dorms. You are excused," Dippet finished.

"Finally," Tom murmured, half-asleep, to himself. "Myron, hey Myron?"

"Huh? Wha?" Myron said, looking around.

Tom smiled. "We can go to our dorms, now."

"About time," he spoke, standing up.

"There, my brother, is Dippet's famous sleep-inducing speech," Owen said standing up.

"I'll say," Myron said, also standing up and following the crowd of Slytherins. "So where's the common room?" he continued.

"In the dungeons, beneath the lake actually."

Both of the first year boys took in this piece of information and sleepily nodded. The group of Slytherins went down many stone steps and long corridors before stopping in front of an empty stretch of stone wall. Tom looked questioningly at Myron but not before somebody spoke to the entire crowd.

"The password is Magical lore. Magical lore," the prefect repeated. The stone wall slid open revealing a room that the Slytherins crowded into. "First years, this our common room," she continued. Tall chairs were in various spots around the common room and a fire was lit in the elegant fireplace. Many lamps hung from the ceiling, giving off a greenish light that shone across the stone walls and ceiling. "Girls, follow me to your dormitory. Boys, follow Jack," she pointed to the other prefect you mutely waved, "To your dormitory." Tom and Myron followed the prefect who led them up a narrow staircase and through a door with a silver number one on it.

"This will be your dormitory for the entire year. You can tell because it says one for the first years," he rapped the door with his knuckles. "So, basically, that's all I can really think of. Your stuff's been brought up already," the prefect nodded toward the collection of trunks, "But you get to decide which bed you choose. As you can tell, I'm the Slytherin fifth-year prefect so if you have any questions just ask me. And, er, yeah. Have fun killing each deciding who gets which bed." All of the first years looked at him with wide eyes. "Joking, joking! Geez, tough crowd," he said to himself, closing the door.

All of the boys stood, looking at each other for a moment before they each reached forward and grabbed their own trunk. They stood for a moment longer before drifting over to their desired bed and sitting it down, thus claiming it theirs. Tom pulled on his pajamas and lay down upon the silver-colored sheets before speaking to the darkened room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," chorused the room of unknowns.

Reflecting, like he always did at the end of the day, Tom realized what Erik had silently accused him before being sorted into Ravenclaw. Betrayal.

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Disclaimer: Don't own Tom Riddle, Hogwarts, Harry Potter, et cetera.

Thank You's: Big big BIG thank you to Kai (Kuramakicksass) for helping me with the Sorting hat song, couldn't have done it without her, and for beta-reading this chapter. Also, I got the information about the Slytherin common room being under the lake from Harry Potter Lexicon. I don't think the links showed up last chapter so the general Harry Potter Lexicon site is hp-lexicon, only it's at .org, not .com.

A/N: I am so super sorry for taking so incredibly long. However, I now have a better estimate of how long it will be between updates. It is my unfortunate duty to tell you that updates will probably come every 3, 4, maybe 5 weeks, but hopefully more often than that. My teachers give way too much homework but I shall keep trying to update. If you want, I can e-mail you when I finish a chapter if you don't want to keep checking back. Oh, and if you don't already know, I put how far along I am in my profile. So check that if you're wondering. Hmm, that's all I think. Reviews are always appreciated.


	14. The First Day of School

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Fourteen: The First Day of School

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"Dear Merlin Tom, you're already up?"

"What?" Tom spoke.

"It's six in the morning!" Myron exclaimed.

"So?" he said, turning over the corner of his book.

"We have two hours until we even have to be in the Great Hall," stated Myron, checking his watch before realizing he wasn't wearing it.

"I couldn't sleep," Tom replied, shrugging.

"Oh," the boy became silent.

"Figured, I'd review some information," he volunteered, holding up his book.

"Suppose that's a good idea, but I think I'll take sleep," Myron said, turning back to the dormitory stairs. "Night."

"Night." Tom replied as he heard the stairs being climbed. "Or rather, morning!"

* * *

"Aren't they supposed to have passed out the schedules by now?" Myron nervously asked his brother.

"Not always," Owen replied, buttering his toast. "Sometimes Professor Irving takes a while to pass out the schedules."

"He teaches...charms, right?"

Owen nodded and continued eating his breakfast.

"Is that him?" Tom asked, gesturing to a stocky man near the end of their table.

"Uhh," the older boy leaned backward slightly to get a better view, "Yes."

"So--" cutting himself off, Tom stared upward in awe, as did many of the first years.

Owen vaguely glanced. "I've forgotten how surprised the first years always are at the mail." Myron and Tom were still looking at the hundreds of circling owls, one of which had now landed on the older boy's shoulder. Tom diverted his attention to this one, having seen an owl close up only once, and eventually all of the other owls spiraled down to their owners. "Wonder what Mum's sent me now," Owen spoke to himself, pulling a piece of paper off the owl's leg.

"What makes you think it's for you?" Myron defiantly asked.

"Because she's probably reminding me to watch out for you or something," the older Nex replied, giving a slight laugh afterward. "Hey, what do you know, I'm right."

"Great," his younger brother spoke sarcastically. Tom was gently stroking the black-brown owl as it ate Myron's breakfast.

"Is this your owl, Owen?" The owl was now nibbling on Owen's breakfast.

"Delano? No, that's Mum and Dad's owl. They won't give either of us an owl; they think it's a waste to have more than one owl per family."

Tom nodded as the owl took flight.

"Owen, good to see you again," spoke Professor Irving, handing Owen a schedule. "Myron, good to see you too, say hello to your parents for me," he handed Myron another schedule. "And you are...?" the professor asked, surveying Tom.

"Tom Riddle."

"Riddle," the professor repeated, handing him a piece of paper and moving onward.

"How'd he know your name?" Tom asked Myron.

"Oh, he knows our family. Actually, I'm surprised he didn't know yours, too. He tends to know most of the proper pure-blood families."

"Ah, well," quickly thinking of a lie, Tom continued, "My mum doesn't have company over too often."

Myron nodded. "My mum goes completely nuts when someone comes over. Once, she almost gave our house-elf some laundry to put away, she was so out of it." Smiling, Tom didn't say anything. (He had no idea what a house-elf was or why it was bad that Myron's mother had almost given it laundry.) "Do you want to head toward our first period? Who knows how long it's going to take us to find it," his friend continued.

"Sure," Tom answered, pushing his finished breakfast away and standing up.

"We have," Myron consulted his paper, "Potions first. I think that's in the dungeons."

Owen nodded. "It is. Good luck," he added as the two first years set off.

"Do you know where the dungeons are?" Tom asked as they started walking.

"I think I have a general idea," Myron spoke.

The noise of the Great Hall faded away as they started walking through empty hallways, in the direction of where they hoped the dungeons would be. Both boys walked for quite a while before they heard the sound of a bell, far off. "How much time do we have left?" asked Tom, assuming Myron would know.

"Five, ten, fifteen minutes," the sandy-haired boy shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." Tom was not particularly comforted. "But I think we're almost here," he added hopefully.

"It does seem like we're closer to the dungeons," Tom concurred.

They went down another flight of stone steps, this one with moss growing in the corners. "Uhh," Myron started, looking around a corner. "This way, I think." Tom mutely followed. "And we're h--" he cut himself off. Both boys stood in front of the door to the Slytherin common room. "Uh, heh, heh...heh. Oops?"

"I have an idea," Tom stated, hiding his slight annoyance, before walking off. Myron quickly followed, now silent.

_Right, left, down, right, right, down, left, down--_

"Wow, you really know where you're going!" spoke, Myron surprised.

"And, voila!" Tom said, gesturing to the door of their potions classroom, quite amazed at his good luck.

Myron whistled. "Nice job."

They took both took adjacent seats at the front of the classroom (as much as Myron had wanted to sit in the back) and pulled out their potion books. The faint sound of a bell floated through the open door and a woman walked in from another room, presumably her office. She wore dark blue robes and her brown eyes sparkled at the children in front of her.

"Welcome students!" she called out. Several of the students murmured a hello back in the brief pause. "I am Professor Waldron and, in addition to being the potions professor, I am also the Ravenclaw head of house. But this is just Gryffindors and Slytherins, right?" The class murmured in agreement. "Good. Now then," she tapped the blackboard with her wand and words written in a hasty cursive appeared. "Copy these notes while I take attendance." There was the sound of students diving into their bags for quills and ink. "After you take these notes we will start our first potion and, before you ask," the several students with their hands in the air put them down, "it will be a potion which cures boils, and it is relatively simple as long as you follow directions."

The professor silently continued pacing the room as quills scratched furiously against parchment. Tom made a mental note to practice writing with a quill; he kept smearing the notes, being used to a pencil. "Are you done yet?" she asked, attempting to hide her impatience at starting the potion. Some of the first years shook their head, while others triumphantly set down their quill. "Three more minutes," she spoke. The sound of moving quills decreased until the room was entirely silent. "Excellent!" Professor Waldron eagerly spoke, clapping her hands together. "Now, those were notes on the basics of all potions and potion making in general. We'll go further in depth, but for now, I want to see how you make a potion on your own. Without help. So," she tapped the chalkboard with her wand once again and the notes disappeared, being replaced by more neatly written words. "These are the instructions, get started and good luck."

Tom, and the rest of the class, quickly set to making the potion. The classroom was silent, except for the hissing of potions and the occasional whisper of a question to an adjacent friend, which was always reprimanded with a swift glare from Professor Waldron. "Remember," she had said loudly several times throughout the period, "This is a test of your potion skills, not your friend's."

The bell sounded, far off as always, and Professor Waldron quickly spoke, "Time's up! Bottle a small amount of your potion and give it to me. Don't worry, this isn't for a real grade, I just want to see how far along all of you are."

Tom quickly handed his bottled potion to the professor and gathered his things. "What do we have now?" he asked Myron, who had returned to his seat a mere moment after the black-haired boy.

"Charms," the other boy replied, quickly stuffing his things disorderly into his book bag.

"Don't suppose you know where that is?" Tom asked, not particularly faithful in Myron's navigating skills. At least, not anymore.

"As a matter of fact I do," Myron replied proudly, striding out of the potions classroom with Tom behind him. "And I really do," he added, as though he was able to sense Tom's doubt. "I've been there before. I think Irving was doing parent-teacher conferences or something, and they dragged me along."

"They don't still do those--do they?" asked Tom, attempting to keep the shock and fear out of his voice.

"Parent-teacher conferences? Nah, at least I don't think so. It was always unique to Irving, anyway. Wanted to really get to know the students, as opposed to other houses, where all they learn is the students' name," Myron spoke, and Tom felt his heart beat slow down slightly. "So how do you think you did on the potion?" the dark-eyed boy said, changing the topic rather abruptly.

"I think I did rather well," Tom replied, happy to be on a safe subject. "It reminded me of this assignment once given to me at my old school," he decided to elaborate, being able to, for once. Of course, Tom failed to mention that the teacher had given it to him in the hopes he would fail it. He had been collectively chosen by the rest of the class, who had strongly disliked the orphaned boy. "It was a list of directions we were supposed to follow. The first one was that you were to read all of the directions before doing anything. So, the assignment assumed you'd ignore that one, and get to the following directions. The last direction, of course, told you to not do anything."

Myron laughed. "Brilliant! Did you fall for it?"

Tom smiled, "I'm glad to say that although I almost did, in the end I didn't."

"So you went to a preparatory school, I take it?" Myron asked.

Tom felt his blood turn to ice. Did wizard children go to elementary school? He hadn't even thought of the fact that they might not. Luckily, Tom was saved from having to say anything as Myron continued talking.

"Father thought about sending Owen and I to a preparatory school, but Mum didn't want us to have to leave home any sooner than necessary," he said the last part with a slight laugh. "But of course it does help if you have some prior education, so Mum got us a tutor."

Tom nodded, thankful he hadn't revealed anything unintentionally. "Is this the charms classroom?" he asked when Myron hesitated in front of a classroom door.

The other boy glanced inside quickly before replying that, yes, it was. They quickly entered, and none too soon, for the far off bell rang as soon as they had taken their seats.

Professor Irving was a balding wizard of average height, with a stocky build. His small glasses were perched precariously on the end of his nose. He quickly introduced himself to the other house that shared their period, which, as Tom was ecstatic to find out, was Ravenclaw.

Charms itself consisted mostly of taking tedious notes, which Professor Irving explained. However, Tom privately thought that the notes were simple enough they hardly yielded an explanation. The bell rang after what seemed an eternity, with the elderly professor promising they'd actually perform some spells the following day.

"What now?" Tom asked, reaching into his bag to make sure his wand was still there, as though afraid it might disappear from lack of use.

"I think we have lunch," Myron replied casually, before looking at his schedule and affirming this belief.

"Now we just need to find our way back to the Great Hall," Tom said with a sarcastic smile.

* * *

"What page numbers?"

"One to twenty-three."

"One to twenty three?!"

"Yes."

"Do you suppose if my book 'accidentally' catches fire I'll be let off?"

Tom laughed, "Probably not, but if you sit any closer to the fire it may be an accident."

"I'm cold," Myron feebly stated in his defense.

"That's fine." Tom was sitting in one of the chairs while Myron was lying on his stomach directly in front of the fire.

"I'm guessing you already did the reading," Myron spoke, changing the topic slightly.

"You'd be correct if you made that guess," Tom serenely replied.

"I can't believe today was supposed to be an easy day," the other boy replied, exasperated.

"I guess we'll get comparison tomorrow," spoke Tom, smiling slightly.

"Uggh," was Myron's only reply. For a few minutes neither of them said anything before Myron, desperate for a distraction from his school work, spoke again. "So what did you think of the different classes?"

"They were fine," was Tom's reply. "Transfiguration wasn't too bad, and at least we got to use our wands."

"You're just saying that because you were the only person who actually succeeded in transfiguring that match," Myron spoke, smiling.

"Maybe I am," replied Tom, also smiling. "And I must say, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher certainly seems to know his subject, even if we didn't do any spells today."

"Yes, he certainly seems to," Tom's sandy-haired friend replied. "Evidently, when he went to Hogwarts, he was a Slytherin."

"Oh, really?" said Tom, more focused on his book than on the conversation.

"That's what I heard."

"Mmm," was Tom's only reply, now that he was fully submerged in his book.

Myron noticed this and gave up on procrastinating, instead submitting himself to the full wrath of his school work.

A half-hour later, Tom bade him good-night and climbed the stairs to his dormitory, rather content with his first day of school and extremely excited that he was finally on his way to becoming a wizard.

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Disclaimer: I don't own Tom Riddle, or the Harry Potter world.

A/N: Here (finally) is Chapter 14. My apologies for such an incredibly long wait and for the fact it is not as long as the previous chapter, but I hope that can be forgiven. Hopefully, once winter break starts (about half way through December) I'll be able to update a bit more often. Until then, please hold out with the sporadic updates.

Another A/N: As my beta-reader is not-so-gently reminding me, she beta-read this chapter, so a big thanks to her. (My beta-reader is Kai, her account being called Kuramakicksass.) (She also wants me to ask you to read her new Harry Potter story, The All-American Rebel.) (She says thank you.)


	15. Another Letter

**The Tale of Tom**

Chapter Fifteen: Another Letter

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"Morning, Tom."

"Morning."

"I finally found my way down to the Great Hall without Owen's help," Myron informed his friend, with a wide smile on his face.

"That's good," Tom replied, looking up and giving the sandy-haired boy a smile.

"I see you did too, considering Owen was still in the common room when I left," Myron said, obviously in a good mood.

Tom smiled and didn't tell his friend that he had been able to find his way down to the Great Hall for several weeks now.

"Let's see, what do we have today," Myron said to himself, looking at the first year Slytherin's schedule. "Uggh, we have Binn's today," he told his dark-haired friend. Tom just gave a small smile and continued eating his breakfast. "You're awfully peaceful today," Myron said, noticing his friend's calm demeanor. "I'd be more likely to jump out a window upon hearing I have Binn's than smile."

"I'm sorry, I just feel rather serene today," Tom apologized.

"Oh, I'm not annoyed, I find it interesting," Myron explained.

They both ate their breakfast in silence, with Owen joining them after a small amount of time had passed. As soon as the elder Nex had taken his seat the mail came, in the form of hundreds of owls.

Delano took a place on Owen's head, sticking out her leg and the attached letter. He took it off and offered it to his younger brother who opened it before spreading it out in front of both of them.

Tom offered the owl some of his breakfast, which she gratefully received. He smiled vaguely at the two Nex siblings, who were too busy reading the weekly letter sent by their parents to pay attention to much else. Myron's mother seemed to be very protective of both of her children, as she sent them a long letter every week on the dot. (Tom himself was slightly surprised when it did not arrive yesterday, as it usually came on Mondays).

"Ow!" yelled Tom, accidentally tipping over the goblet he had been lowering slightly for Delano. He quickly righted it, and attempted to clean up the spilled drink with his napkin. "You can have some of my breakfast too, if you're so cross," he spoke to the owl which had pecked his hand so fiercely. In reply, it pecked at his hand again. "Ow! Darn it, that hurt! What do you want?" he asked, knowing that although it was only an owl, it was a wizard owl, which meant it was very intelligent. It stuck out its leg as Delano had done for Owen and Tom noticed a letter attached. Frowning slightly, Tom took of the letter and the owl immediately took flight. Tom silently bit his tongue to keep himself from yelling at the owl to come back, as it had undoubtedly delivered the letter to the wrong person. He opened the letter and, with a bit of surprise, saw that it was actually addressed to him. Tom vaguely wondered if Rose had written to him, although he doubted that she would, despite her promise.

_Dear Tom,_ its rough scrawl said,

_First of all, happy birthday! I hope you are doing well at Hogwarts, and I wish you success in the many days to come. That being said, I figured I should take this opportunity to deliver a good bit of news. Rose was adopted the other day! And by that lovely couple you met in late August. So I won't take any more of your time, as I'm sure you're busy with spells to practice and incantations to memorize. _

_Sincerely,_

_Miss O'Flannery_

Tom blinked a bit and put the piece of paper in his pocked. Well, that explained who it was from. It made sense, of course, no one else knew he was attending Hogwarts. None the less, he still felt slightly disappointed. He wasn't really sure why though, what else could it have been? It was simply a brief business-like note, written because it was something that had to be done, a chore near the bottom of a to-do list.

To his left, the two Nex's were still reading their letter. It seemed to be even longer than usual this week, no doubt full with loving apologies for being a day late. Tom made a half-hearted attempt to clean up the rest of the long-ago spilled pumpkin juice but gave up, deciding to just leave it as a damp orange spot on the clean white tablecloth. Why was he so unhappy all of a sudden? The fact he had been remembered at all should have made him happy. Or maybe he didn't want to be remembered. If he was remembered it meant he had something tying himself to that dark, dismal world. But surely he wouldn't want to severe all ties even if he had a choice, would he? After all, he had lived there for the past 11, no, 12 years.

"Who was the letter from, Tom?"

Tom snapped his head up from its downward position of looking at his plate. "Huh?"

"Was it from your mum?" Myron spoke again.

"Oh, um, yes it was," Tom said quickly looking down at his plate again to hide his embarrassment.

Myron took a bite of a syrup-laden waffle before replying. "She must be really busy to write you so rarely; does she work?"

"Uh, yeah. She..." Tom quickly searched his mind for occupations his imaginary mother could hold. He knew that, in the Muggle world at least, some jobs were closed to women, something he thought unfair. "She sells stuff," he stated. "You know, magical items, with my Dad. They travel around Europe selling stuff. But magic stuff of course. No muggle stuff."

"Sounds interesting. Did you go with them before you were accepted into Hogwarts?"

Tom wanted very badly to say yes, he had been to all sorts of exotic places, but he knew he couldn't successfully fool Myron into believing that. There'd be too many questions he couldn't answer, too many things he simply wouldn't know. He knew his own limitations. So, reluctantly, Tom replied that, no, he hadn't gone traveling with them. Instead he said they arranged it so one of them would always stay home with him. On the rare occasions when they both had to leave, they would leave him with a friend and rush back as soon as he could.

Tom realized about halfway through his story that the letter in his pocket was a direct contradiction to every word he had just uttered. What was worse was that it was written, irrefutable evidence. He had to get rid of it. Maybe he could burn it, ashes can't prove anything. And he had just read up on a fire-producing spell. What was the incantation? Cinder? Inferno? It started with an I, he knew that much, but he couldn't remember anything else. But that'd take a while even if he could remember how to cast it. He'd have to find some out of the way corner where he could burn it without being noticed and there weren't exactly a lot of those in the middle of the day.

Far off, a bell rung, indicating the start of the passing period. Tom picked up his book bag and walked out of the Great Hall with Myron. Quickly making a show of checking his bag, Tom stated that he accidentally left his quill in the Great Hall and rushed back in, against the flow of people. He quickly took out the incriminating scrap of paper and ripped apart the "Dear Tom" part before dropping the rest of it on the Gryffindor's messy table. If there was no name, there was no evidence and no way it could be traced back to him. Tom strode back out of the Great Hall and allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he felt his peacefulness float back to him.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I know, bad author, bad author. But at least I updated! I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the other ones so I apologize for that and for taking so incredibly long to update. Oh, on another note, I decided to start doing reviewer responses so scroll down a bit further. 

Disclaimer (keep scrolling): I don't own Harry Potter or his world.

**Reviewer Responses** (yay!):

Okay, because I started doing these when I had already started this story first off I am going to give a BIG thank you to **Chantal J**,** ERMonkey Burner of Cookies**,** harryptaxd204** and **Kuramakicksass** for all of their wonderful, WONDERFUL reviews; my inspiration. And thank you also to **Shenzee**, **flutegirl89** and **Lilly K** for reviewing. But now the specific people—fine, person.

**RSegovia**: First of all, thank you so incredibly much for reviewing. And don't worry, the orphanage is going to become worse. Also, you certainly make a point about Rose and, truthfully, I'm not entirely happy with the beginning myself. I may rewrite it sometime but right now I'm more concerned about getting out new chapters.


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